


Versions of You

by CallMeAlyKat



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Adventure, Banter, Drama, F/M, Hogwarts Eighth Year, Light Angst, Medium Burn, Mystery, Possessive Draco, Post-War, Romance, Soul Bond, Soulmates, Suspense, a dash of fluff
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-20
Updated: 2020-08-27
Packaged: 2021-03-03 04:08:15
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 11
Words: 53,406
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24288685
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CallMeAlyKat/pseuds/CallMeAlyKat
Summary: “It’s funny to think that in any life, no matter the circumstance, we would still have been at each other’s throats.”Post-war AU. Draco is plagued by dreams. Dreams of different lives, different times, dreams about all manners of change -- from their skin, to their hair, to their age, to their species. But one thing was constant: he had lived through each lifetime looking at her eyes. When Hermione is threatened by rogue Death Eaters, they are forced to work together to solve the mystery behind the threats to her life before it's too late -- again.My take on the Soulmate/Different Lifetimes trope. DMHG. R&R!!!
Relationships: Hermione Granger/Draco Malfoy
Comments: 81
Kudos: 167





	1. Dreams

**Author's Note:**

> AN: Disclaimer: Universe not mine, but JK Rowling's
> 
> I've always loved the idea of Dramione throughout different lifetimes. And I've tried to put it in writing before (but I failed), and now, I think I've finally figured out a story line that I could work with. It's centered on the concept "The eyes are the windows to the soul". Lightly angsty, but honestly, I can't help but put in pockets of humor and fluff! I'm just /that/ kind of writer, you know? I hope you enjoy!!!

**_Draco_ **

The dreams came the night after he first watched Hermione Granger writhe on his drawing room floor.

The first dream started with her eyes. It was all he could see, eyes awash with anguish as they stared at him. Like in the drawing room, he couldn’t look away. He couldn’t break his gaze. Then suddenly, it was pitch black.

_He wondered idly, if his brain had short-circuited, but the sensory deprivation didn’t last long. He began to hear muffled shouting. Even slower still, he felt the motion of water. He must be in a boat. The rolling motion was making him feel a little sick, but again, he couldn’t do anything about it, he couldn’t move._

_Suddenly, a door banged open, and his eyes, which he didn’t know were closed—opened. He was up, looking at the haggard face of a boy. Glaucos. He didn’t know how he knew the name, but the information was there._

_He felt his body stand up. It was a curious sensation, being fully aware, but being unable to control anything. Mentally, he started to panic, but his body felt calm and collected, even with the chaos that was more audible now with the open-door allowing sounds from outside to filter through._

_“What’s wrong?” He heard himself say, in a voice that was his, but wasn’t quite his. It was all so confusing. He decided that he must be dreaming, or dead. His soul trapped in someone else’s body. He rather liked the first thought more._

_“There’s another ship, a Greek trireme” the haggard boy explained, as Draco felt his body move in well-practiced motions. He felt the understanding come across him, this body—with his mind, was coming to a conclusion. It took a second for him to understand the thoughts that flashed across his host’s brain. “They look aggressive.”_

_His body or he—it was so fucking confusing – gave the boy a somber nod. “I’ll be up in a second.”_

_Suddenly, he understood why his voice sounded different – he wasn’t speaking English. It sounded, dare he say it, Greek. But not like any modern version of the language that he had heard before. But it didn’t matter, because he understood it nonetheless._

_Hurriedly, he felt his host go through the motions of dressing, taking a well-polished bow and arrow, he ran all the way up to the deck. Murmurs of greeting met him as he appeared. Everyone present was an unfamiliar face, but he somehow knew who they were all the same._

_“Where is Helen?” He heard himself say._

_A look of disgust came across the features of the man from his right, and a deep rage blossomed from his chest, surprising him. Who was this Helen? And why did he feel so protecti—before he could finish his thoughts, memories flooded into his mind._

_A girl, barely 17, looking up at him, laughing at him for letting his sheep get away. An image of a golden apple, held by a golden goddess. Her arms clutching at him as he spirited her away into a boat in a mad dash to escape._

_And… love? He felt an all-encompassing love surround him, fill him down to his toes. It felt as if he was tied to this very world by the love that he had held for the girl._

_“I’m right here, Paris.” He heard a high voice say from behind him. Suddenly, a pair of thin arms circle his waist, and he felt her soft body press against him. “I got up early, so I decided to go outside to breathe in the sea.”_

_He laughed, twisting so he could hug her. Warmth blossomed from his chest, and an overwhelming sense of peace settled over him._

_“You’ve been surrounded by the sea for weeks, love.” He murmured into her hair. “But I’m glad you haven’t tired of it.”_

_The girl – Helen – looked up, giving him a smile._

_And Draco was absolutely floored. He knew those eyes – he had memorized every detail, every color, every speck. He had just spent the afternoon staring into them as their owner got tortured by his deranged aunt._

_With horror, he tried to step away, to get away from her, but his body wouldn’t move, it couldn’t respond. Another surge of absolute warmth and longing coursed through him, warring with the nauseating guilt that he was feeling._

_“I’m Greek, remember?” Helen laughed. “I could live on an island for the rest of my days and I’d never tire of the sea.”_

_“Well, you’re going to love Troy.” His host body – Paris – said softly, tracing the jawline of the woman. “My palace sits out near the edge of the bay, and you’d hear, smell, and see the sea every day.”_

_“I’d love that,” She replied, but a mischievous glint flashed across her eyes – Hermione Granger’s eyes. “But there’s something else that I’m much more interested in.”_

_And just like that, the mood shifted. He felt a surge of longing, and Paris—Draco—his head hurt to think about it – bent down and kissed the girl._

_It felt like pure magic. It probably was. Their kiss melded their magical cores together, creating the lightest feeling that Draco had ever felt. It stole away his every thought of guilt that he was desperately trying to use to shield his mind from the onslaught of adoration that Paris had felt for Helen. A delicious warmth coursed through him, and it felt as if every nerve of his body was alight with a burning need. Paris—Draco –Paris clutched at Helen’s waist, squeezing as licked the bottom of her lips, asking permission to enter. She breathed out a quiet moan, and he used the opportunity to slide his tongue into her mouth, eliciting another breathy moan from his girl._

His girl.

_The thought jolted him out of his reverie. This wasn’t his girl. He didn’t have any girls. But Paris had thought it, and in extension, Draco felt as if it was true for him too. His head ached from the disconcerting feeling. A loud boom rang off from somewhere near them, and it was enough to wake Draco from his dream._

Sitting up, he carefully lifted his fingers to his mouth. He wasn’t entirely convinced that it was just a dream. He could still taste her lips, he could still feel the brush of her tongue against his, he could even smell the scent of apples and salt in the air.

He tried to fall back to sleep, but the mystery of the dream plagued him. Carefully, he got up and donned his dressing gown and slippers. He called for an elf.

“Trinket.” He said, addressing the elf who was bowing deeply. “Check to see if the library is empty, then come back.”

“Yes, Young Master. Trinket will check for you, she will.” The elf said enthusiastically, and then the elf was gone, only to reappear a second later. “It’s empty, Young Master Draco.”

“Take me there,” He ordered. He hated that he had to go through such lengths to ensure his safety in his _own house_ , but it is what it is. He could only hope that Potter would surface soon and kill the madman. Given of course, that the knife Bella threw at their disapparating party hadn’t hit him. “Quietly.”

With a tugging sensation, he felt his room swirl into oblivion.

* * *

A month later, his research – or what little time he could steal away for himself, seeing as the madman was apparently _ever_ in need of an audience—was not doing too well. Five books on dream magic and one particularly steamy diary of an ancestor who specialized in divination later, he was still without an answer. The dreams were coming almost every night. There was no apparent rhyme or reason, no apparent pattern within them, save for two things.

One, it always felt as if he was trapped to live out a particular moment in time in another’s body. It didn’t matter, what body he inhibited, it always changed – his skin, his sex, his blood status (for he found that in every dream they always exhibited at least _some_ sort of magic), everything. Except for his eyes. They were always the same pale gray. And second, in every single dream, he had felt particularly strong emotions for another with Granger’s eyes.

He shook his head, it was already hours past midnight, and he had to have some semblance of rest if he wanted to be mentally strong enough to keep up his occlumency shields. With a frustrated sigh, he transfigured the tome he was reading into a handkerchief, tucking it away with the others that were similarly disguised.

No one had come snooping into his room, to the best of his knowledge, but with the crowd that he was living with, you could never be too careful.

He settled into his sheets, dreading the coming dream, and the emotions that came with it.

_Again, his dream started with her eyes._

_Then there was darkness._

_Draco came to awareness with the sound of a forest. From the looks of it, he was deep in a tropical jungle. Golden rays from the afternoon light turned the already lively forest into an exceptionally beautiful scene. Bright, deep greens surrounded him, with even bright splashes of color here and there from the animals and plants that surrounded him – them. He felt a presence beside him, guarding his back. With practiced eased, he tried to step back mentally as he let the scene unfold._

_He stepped forward, and a sharp crack disturbed the noise that the forest was making. He noticed the colors flash around, animals moving away._

_“What are you doing?” the boy asked. “Quit it, we’ll catch anything if you keep stepping on every twig we come across.”_

_“As if you talking wouldn’t scare any more animals away.” He teased, stage whispering. The boy turned around to glare at him. He’s had plenty of these dreams since the first time, but it was always a shock to see her eyes. “It’s nearly dusk now, it’s almost impossible to hunt.”_

_“Fine,” the boy said, stretching from his hunting crouch, “I give up. But you’re the one who has to explain to the Chief why we didn’t bring back any game. Again.”_

_He rolled his eyes. “Kanlaon, we both know your father’s not going to punish us.”_

_“You, maybe. He practically adores you, Marikudo” Kanlaon said, rolling his eyes. “I’m the one who has to suffer through another fortnight of thinly veiled insults about my hunting skills.”_

_Draco – in this case, Marikudo – rolled his eyes, but gave the other boy a playful smirk. Dropping his bow, he took hold of Kanlaon’s hand, pulling him closer towards him. “Why don’t I make it up to you,”_

_“How do you plan to do that?” Kanlaon said hoarsely, and Marikudo felt a rush of giddiness as he saw the effect that he had on the other boy._

_“Come on,” Marikudo said, heading towards the east._

_“Where are we going?” Kanlaon asked, frowning, “If I get bitten by a snake again –”_

_“So impatient.” Marikudo laughed, cutting the other boy off. “And the last snake wasn’t even poisonous.”_

_He heard his partner huff, and he laughed gaily at the sound._

_A few moments later, they were standing on a rock, overlooking the edge of a waterfall._

_He turned around, and saw that Kanlaon was about to open his mouth. He swooped down, capturing the other boy’s lips, effectively shutting him up. Draco felt his magic come alive, just as it had with his first dream. He was still unused to the feeling, as this was only the third time that his dream-self had kissed the person with Granger’s eyes. Honestly, even if they shared a thousand kisses, he was unsure that he would ever get used to the heady rush._

_“Patience, love” He said as he broke the kiss, resting his forehead against the other boy’s. Granger’s eyes stared back at his, and in the soft pink light of the waning sun, those eyes glowed even more, the gold in specks in them shining through. “Watch.”_

_And with a flourish, he swept his hand through the air, feeling his magic rush towards the trees. Suddenly, the world, which was already a soft, hazy purple, was awash with vibrant orange light, coming from a thousand glowing fruits._

_“Incredible.” He heard Kanlaon croak._

_“Did I make it up to you now?”_

_“You did,” the other boy said, giving him a smile that left him a little dazed. And with practiced ease of lovers, they came together for a kiss._

* * *

_In this dream, he was an owl._

_He soared through the night, and he felt the wonderful rush of the wind against his wings. Draco, well, real-life-Draco, hadn't been on a broom since his 5th year, since he was too preoccupied with the cabinet. He couldn't believe that it had been almost two years since then, but he could also feel the mental weight of those two years deep in his bones._

_Suddenly, the body -- the owl that he was in, swooped down towards a cottage, nestled in a quiet stretch of wood. Landing lightly onto the window sill, he gave the wooden window slats a few impatient taps._

_"Louis, is that you?" A feminine voice called from inside. He struggled to place the language, his literal bird brain trying to accommodate his human thoughts. "Give me a second, I just have to finish this page."_

_French, he decided. The language she used was definitely French, he mused impatiently as the bird gave another set of impatient raps._

_With a laugh, the window slat opened, revealing the laughing face of an old, blonde girl. There it was again, Granger's eyes, scrunched up in mirth. Her skin was orange in the firelight, her laugh-lines deepening with her amusement. "Such an impatient bird, she tutted."_

_And just like that, the irritation he felt from waiting evaporated, a rush of calm enveloped him. In this dream, there was no trace of any romantic feelings, as far as he could tell, but instead, there was an overall sense of comfort. A familiarity of sorts. Familiarity -- he must be her familiar._

_The bird hopped forward, imperiously holding out his leg to present a letter. He hadn't even noticed the letter throughout his flight, curiously Draco tried to read the writing, but in this body, he couldn't read._

_She took the missive off his leg, offering him a treat. With an affectionate nip, the bird flew inside the room, right to the backrest of an old but comfortable looking rocking chair._

_He watched the woman set the letter aside, "This, can wait tomorrow. The lords and ladies of the Hall should know better than to disturb me this late at night. They shouldn't have made you fly all the way here, especially when there's a storm coming."_

_Storm? He hadn't even felt the resistance of the wind. The bird gave an indignant hoot, which made the lady chuckle._

_"You don't agree? Yes, you probably wouldn't, seeing as you're such a young little chick yourself." She teased, taking the book that she had placed on top of the fireplace. With slow steps, she made her way to the chair. She covered herself in a fleece blanket, and proceeded to read to him._

_He felt himself calm, a feeling of pure contentment settling over himself. After a few pages, his world turned dark._

He couldn't remember the last time that he had woken up from such a restful sleep. 

Stretching out the kinks from his muscle, he glanced at the clock. It was already evening, and he had probably missed dinner. It was of no concern, as of the moment, since if his presence was required, the elves would have woken him up. Sitting up, he reached for the end table containing his handkerchiefs, determined to squeeze in a little bit of research.

He had read about fifty books now, and he hated to admit it, but he was at a dead end. None of the books at the manor regarding dreams mentioned anything remotely similar. He had explored every option, save of course for the person who was actually there with him. It wasn’t as if he could just floo call Granger and ask if she was having dreams too. And he had less and less time to spend. Recently, his godfather, Snape, had given him the option to defect.

The situation at the manor was getting more dangerous by the minute, with the mad man sinking further and further into the depths of insanity. It didn’t help that Bella apparently, came along with him, making her even more deadly than she already was.

After a particularly heated discussion between him and his father, Snape had cornered him, and forcibly read his mind. His old potions professor apparently found out that he was not sporting any of the old bigotry that he was raised to uphold. He hadn’t even known the exact moment his whole belief system had changed. Probably somewhere in between seeing a Hogwarts professor _swallowed_ _whole_ by the loathsome snake and the countless number of torture sessions he had endured under the wand of the madman and Bella.

Snape had offered him sanctuary – but the catch was that he had to leave his parents behind. Make no mistake – he hated Lucius for even getting their family into this situation, but his mother was innocent. He couldn’t leave her. He couldn’t bear to.

So instead of taking the offer, or outright refusing it, he had bartered. As someone that the madman saw no more than a sniveling child, he was often ignored, his presence unnoticed even when important meetings occurred. He had offered this up – offered himself in a suicide mission to serve as a spy, in exchange for his mother’s safety. If anyone in his family deserved saving, it was her.

So now he spent most nights either plotting ways to send information to the Order, or practicing his occlumency so that his mental walls would become stronger. His mother’s life, and his own, depended on both of those things, so he couldn’t exactly put them aside to spend time on something as trivial as dreams.

Only, the dreams never seemed trivial. It felt as if it was an important part of his life, and every day, he was itching to know _why._ Every spare moment was spent obsessing, and this obsession probably saved him from spiraling himself into a whirlpool of insanity. It was a welcome distraction – a puzzle that shielded him from the true horror that he was currently living in.

Suddenly, there was a series of quick raps at his door. Quickly, he disabled the wards that he had put up, and his godfather entered, if not a bit haggard.

“Quickly, Draco. We must go.”

“What’s happening?” He asked, even as he swiveled around, grabbing his robes. In less than a minute, he was ready to go. Snape remained silent, motioning for him to follow. With quick strides, they went to the direction of the visitor wing of the house, towards the apparition room.

“Potter is in Hogwarts.” Snape said, giving him a meaningful look. “It is time.”

Draco was taken a-back for a second, before all of his instincts came rushing back. He knew the plan, the _real_ plan, made by Snape, Shacklebolt, and Lupin. He knew his part. He had trained for it.

He nodded towards Snape and he apparated to Hogwarts.

* * *


	2. Truce

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys! Hope you like this chapter <3

**_Draco_ **

It was over. They had won.

He scanned the Great Hall, or what was left of it. Chunks of debris was being magically pushed to the side, allowing room for the countless injured. He was clutching his shaking mother close, not really knowing how to give her comfort.

The room was filled with hushed whispers, cries of the mourning. They had won, but this was not a room filled with celebration – relief, maybe, but there were no joyous cries. They had lost too much to muster up much cheer.

He himself was still wound tight, ready to uncoil. It was as if his body hadn’t understood yet that the danger was past. The battle was over, but he was still ready for a fight.

He continued his search, and as much as it pained him to admit, he was looking for her wild, wild hair. He had to know. If she was okay, if she was dead – he felt as if he had to know. He couldn’t explain the _need_ that consumed him.

Suddenly, the volume of the murmurs increased, and she was there, standing ever so faithfully at the boy-who-lived’s side. She looked like a fright, with debris dusting her cheeks, tattered jeans soaked with blood.

For a second, their eyes met, eyes that he had ingrained into his memory. He had stared at those eyes throughout countless dreams, but never had he seen them look as haunted, as exhausted. He imagined his eyes held much of the same emptiness. They had won the war, but the horrors they had been through wasn’t erased. He didn’t think they would ever be able to forget.

A look of surprise flashed through her features, but she gave him a stiff nod, before a Weasley – he wasn’t sure which – led their little trio towards a corner where a group of redheads were hunched over a body.

He continued to stare at her back, and he would never admit it, not on his life, but he finally felt relieved.

* * *

_Her eyes, all murky browns and bright warm burnt oranges and hints of gold._

_Then darkness._

_Draco sat on a ledge, within the shade of the forest still, but overlooking a lush valley below. Wind swept through his locks, pushing his hair away from his face. He breathed deeply, taking in the comforting smell of petrichor in the air, and the pleasant warmth coming from the sun. He felt the storm of emotions raging through his host body, and the subsequent struggle to keep them contained, to keep his rage from burning the beautiful grounds spread out before him._

_“Agatha!” a voice called from behind him, and he felt strong, lean arms slip around his waist. He looked down, noting the presence of breasts. He must be a_ she _in this dream. He dismissed the thought, it didn’t matter._ _His/Her? Draco’s hand came up to rest on the arm of the girl behind him, the rush of magic from the contact stilling his thoughts, dispelling his anger._

_Months of these dreams, and it still gave him a headrush. This is what it must feel like, to be high._

_Draco turned around, “Euphrosyne, what are you doing here?”_

_As he expected, his gaze fell on Granger’s eyes, which were filled to the brim with concern. But a shock ran through him as he gave her a quick scan. The girl that stood before him looked exactly like Granger. In all the other dreams, none of the people, or creatures, with Granger’s eyes looked anything like her, this was the first time it happened, and he felt unbalanced._

_“I heard about the betrothal.”_

_With a dejected sigh, his host—Agatha-- placed her forehead onto the girl’s, before pulling at her thighs, guiding her so that she straddled their body. They sat there, for minutes, for hours, quiet. Listening to the rush of the wind. Finally, he heard his host say, “I’m sorry.”_

_“It’s not your fault.” Euphrosyne said, quickly looking up and backing away slightly. Fiercely, she added, “You don’t get a say. It’s unfair.”_

_“It’s the fate of princesses.” Agatha answered, tenderly brushing aside the girl’s brunette locks. Out of all the dreams, he noted that this girl looked closest to Granger. The sensation at the pit of his stomach that came after this realization was uncomfortable, and he didn’t know what to make of it. “Runaway with me.”_

_Shock ran through Euphrosyne’s features, “You can’t, Agatha. Your kingdom, your family, your wealth – you’ll lose it all.”_

_“To hell with riches. I refuse to leave you –”_

_“You might not have to. I can volunteer as your handmaiden.” Euphrosyne cut Agatha off, giving her a brittle smile._

_“And leave your family behind? Colchis is leagues away from our kingdom, Euphrosyne.” Agatha huffed in challenge. “You deny me my right to give up my throne, but you’re all too willing to throw your_ life _away?”_

_“You ask me to give it up too, if we choose to run-away.”_

_“We could always come back! Disguise ourselves. My magic is strong, and we could go back, in a few years, with new faces, a new life. One that we could live together!”_

_“I’d still be with you, even if you marry. We can still be together. That’s enough.”_

_“And how long, do you think, before Horus discovers?” Agatha said, voice rising in frustration. “Even here, whispers follow us, one wrong word in his court, and you’ll be fed to the ravens.”_

_“We’ll just have to be careful.” Euphrosyne said, “We can be smart about it, we can –”_

_“No! I refuse to let that happen. I refuse to—I refuse to risk your life. I can’t—”_

_“—we can make it_ work. _There are spells to—”_

_“No, Euphrosyne.” Agatha said, her hardened exterior cracking, and fear trickled into her voice. “The very idea, of you – of me, putting you in such a situation – I can’t. I don’t want to do it, Euphrosyne. I refuse to lose you, or let you go.”_

_“I_ told _you, you won’t have to. If you want me beside you, I’m there. If you—”_

 _“What I_ want _,” Agatha breathed, voice cracking. Draco felt the deep, gnawing ache of longing resonate from his host. “Is a life with you. A life lived for you. If I go through with this sham of a marriage, we would never have that. You’d_ be _there, but always a step behind – out of reach.”_

 _Euphrosyne’s – Granger’s—eyes watered, and she closed them, giving a resigned sigh. “Why isn’t that enough? At least I’d_ be _with you. I’d rather have that than not have you at all.”_

_“Because I detest that that is all I would be able to give you!” Agatha cried, lifting the other girl’s chin up, forcing her to look. “It’s not what you deserve.”_

_“And you?” Euphrosyne answered, angrily questioning, “What would become of you, if we ran away? I have nothing to my name. You would be giving everything up, and I would be able to give nothing back.”_

_“You’d be giving me a chance.” Agatha said, leaning in for a kiss, before pulling back away. “You’d be giving me a chance at a life with you, an actual one, where we don’t have to pretend. Where I don’t have to spend my days trying to pretend that you’re not the most important thing in my world.”_

_“I am_ not _a thing.” Euphrosyne said indignantly, but her frown didn’t reach her eyes. Agatha gave a little surprised laugh at the response, holding the other girl closer, nearer._

_“Okay.”_

_“Okay?”_

_“Do I need to repeat myself, Agatha?” Euphrosyne said, all anger now gone, giving Agatha a mischievous smirk, she added, “Has the wind addled your brain, oh high princess?”_

_“I should have your head, for that comment.” Agatha said haughtily, giddily, their fight already forgotten._

_“Are you sure you’d be satisfied, with just my head?” Euphrosyne whispered suggestively._

_“I’m sure I can think of other things I could take.” And Agatha leaned down for a kiss._

Draco woke with a start.

Their compartment door had opened, and in an instant, his wand was in his hand, a curse at the tip of his tongue.

“Put that away, mate,” Theo said from across him, “It’s just Luna.”

“Lovegood,” He said, nodding at the blonde standing by the compartment door.

“Hello, Draco,” She gave him a bright, dazed smile, as she slipped passed him, attaching herself to Theodore Nott’s side.

Unlike him, Theo had openly switched sides during the war, and had fought on the side of the Order during the skirmishes that happened in the past year. He hadn’t known how the relationship with Lovegood had developed, but he also didn’t care.

Pansy gave a huff from beside him, eyeing the couple. “Why are _you_ here, Lovegood.” Pansy sneered.

Theo’s eyes flashed with anger, and Draco rolled his eyes, it was obvious, why she was here, what with the way the other blonde was glued to his friend’s side.

“I’m here for Theo, of course.” Lovegood replied, unperturbed by Pansy’s tone. She took Nott’s hand in hers, and gave him a smile as Nott blushed so hard Draco was surprised that steam didn’t come out of his ears.

“Oi, get a room, you two.” Blaise called, looking up from a raunchy magazine he was reading.

“Shut it, Blaise.” Nott said, turning towards Luna and giving her a reassuring smile.

Draco rolled his eyes again, and he settled back down on his seat. The dream bothered him more than the others did, with the way Euphrosyne looked like the spitting image of Granger. If there was any doubt, and there was little to begin with, that Granger was somehow involved in all of this, it was gone now.

His research was still at a dead end, even with consulting what was left of the books at the Hogwarts library during the time he spent helping with the restoration. All of the leads that he found had led to a dead-end, and once again, he was at a loss for what to do.

He could just leave it alone, and spend the rest of his days ignoring the dreams. But his instincts told him that discovering them for what they were was important, and he had learned to trust his instincts during the war. He wouldn’t have made it out, otherwise.

He knew, that the next step of his investigation was to approach Granger, but how could he even bring the topic up? Hey, Granger, you were tortured at my house, remember that? Have any strange dreams afterwards?

He shook his head at the thought. He hadn’t yet thought of a plan that didn’t lead to him getting his arse kicked and his limbs hexed. He was rather fond of his appendages, and he wasn’t going to approach the girl until an opportunity to do so presented himself.

“Are you alright, Draco?” Lovegood’s dreamy voice called from across the compartment.

“Yeah mate, you look knackered.” Theo piped up, pointedly looking at the bags under Draco’s eyes. “Wait, aren’t you supposed to meet with your fellow prefects.”

“His shiny new Head Boy badge is probably just for show.” Blaise sniggered, which earned him a glare from Draco. “Always knew you liked shiny things, mate, but if you wanted to see your reflection so much, a mirror would have been more helpful.”

“Ugh, just shut it, Blaise.” He groaned, but before he could insult the Italian back, Lovegood spoke up.

“You’re being swarmed by Gnobbles.”

“Gnobbles?” Pansy asked snidely, but she kept her mouth shut as Theo flashed her another dangerous look.

“Yes, Gnobbles. It’s practically an infestation. You should go to the infirmary later, you know. I’m sure they have the potions daddy donated last summer. They do wonders with keeping them away.”

“Can I ask what these _Gnobbles_ are?” He asked politely. Blaise threw him an incredulous look, probably surprised that he was even asking, or surprised that his tone could even be _polite_.

He shrugged it off, ignoring the Italian. When Lovegood had been kept at the Manor’s dungeons, it had been Draco’s job, or at least he volunteered for it, to keep the prisoners fed. It was better than helping clear out mess that the revels left. He couldn’t do anything more for them, but the sparse interactions had led to conversations between him and Lovegood. He wasn’t convinced that she was sane, not by a long-shot, but he knew that her words, although wonky, held some wisdom in them. He had to do quite a bit of mental gymnastics to be able to see her point, but without anything else to do, he was curious about what she would say.

“They’re like moths, you see.” Lovegood answered, obviously pleased by his curiosity. “They flutter around people whose past is bothering them.”

“Then why are they only going to me? We’ve been through a war. Everyone here has memories that would keep them up at night.”

No one bothered to correct him. Pansy suddenly was engrossed in reading the ingredients of the magenta nail polish that she was using to coat her nails, and Blaise had started humming to himself as he tried to look like he was lazily still scanning through his magazine, but the tension in his shoulders gave him away.

“Well, that’s not the kind of past they’re attracted to. Too recent. They like to swarm at the memories that are much, much older.”

“Love, I can’t keep up.” Theo said, “Can you explain it more, please?”

“They like to swarm at the memories that aren’t truly yours, Theo.” Luna said patiently, before adding, “Memories of your soul.”

Theo still looked lost, but Draco had heard enough. His _soul_. Was it possible? He had heard of such things happening – who hasn’t heard of reincarnation, of the wizards who had claimed that they had memories of past lives, but he hadn’t made the connection, because he had never really read that you could see them as _dreams_.

But before he could further analyze the situation, the compartment door opened, and the last person he wanted to see right now stepped in.

She looked annoyed, hands on her hips, the epitome of the model student. Her shirt was fully buttoned, tie perfectly knotted, school skirt regulation length. Her shiny Head Girl badge winked at him, polished to perfection. But despite all of that, he saw the hardness in her eyes that weren’t there the year before, the bags that she didn’t even try to glamour, the tense way she held herself, as if she was ready to be attacked at any moment.

He found it ridiculous that out of everyone, it seemed that he and Granger were the ones who couldn’t fully stop living like they were still in a war.

“Malfoy.” Her crisp voice pulled him from his thoughts. Her pinched expression softened as she glanced towards Nott and Lovegood. “Hey, Theo, Luna.”

She whipped her attention back to Draco, the pinched look coming back to her features. “The meeting’s about to start, and you’re still lounging about.”

With that, she turned and stalked out of the compartment, mumbling about how she hated being late.

With a resigned sigh, he stood up, nodding to his friends, he hurried to catch up to her. “It’s the start of the year, Granger, and you’ve already got a stick up your arse.”

She gave him a glare, pointing her wand at his throat, “Shut it, Malfoy.”

“Ooh, hit a nerve, have I?”

He expected her to explode, and he was rather looking forward to the spectacle. Her anger was a more welcome sight than the empty, haunted look she sported. But he was disappointed as he saw the spark of anger die down, and the lifeless look seeped back into her eyes.

With a ragged breath, she lowered her wand, she turned her back on him, and walked away.

Confused at the lack of reaction, he quickened his steps to follow.

* * *

**_Hermione_ **

She liked to think that she was back to normal – albeit a little more particular about keeping things the way they should be. She straightened the quills in front of her, three of them, because the number comforted her. Moving on, she straightened her notebook, aligning them with the quills just _so_.

It annoyed her somewhat, that Harry and Ron had opted out to come back to school and sit for their NEWTs. Education was important! But she had expected it really, because the two never really cared much for their academics. It wasn’t a surprise that they had jumped at the chance to waive their schooling and go directly through to the Auror department.

She was offered a position as well, they told her that her strategic and survival skills would be much welcomed, but she had declined, knowing that coming back to school was something that she _needed_ to do. She was _excited_ to go back. She was sure of her decision, but it bothered her that their trio was down to one.

One was never a lucky number in the history books.

“Head in the clouds, Granger?” Malfoy whispered from beside her. She looked up to see a challenging look on his face.

She rolled her eyes. He was just trying to goad her, _again._ In the last hour that they had been forced to sit together through the prefect meeting, he had tried a total of eight times to annoy her. She hadn’t risen to the bait, so far, and she wasn’t about to do so.

Her silence, apparently bored him, but she knew that it was only a matter of time before he tried to poke at her again. He looked away, back to the _other_ Head Boy, who was currently speaking about drawing up rounds schedules.

She looked around, feeling out of place. She hadn’t expected her Hogwarts letter to arrive bearing the Head Girl badge, since she had already passed up the chance to be one the previous year. But it had been there, along with her book list, all shiny and clean, and _normal_.

She had accepted, of course, because she knew that the responsibility would be a nice thing to have, now that she would have loads of free time from not having to continuously worry about dark wizards trying to overtake their society and kick her out of it.

But she hadn’t expected the title to be just that – a title. All the privilege, but without the responsibilities. Apparently, as McGonagall had explained to her, she and Malfoy, who was also given the position as part of his war probation (though _that_ particular piece of information was classified), were to be beacons of peace of the new world they had created. Muggleborn and Pureblood, coexisting together, working together, a symbol that the war they had fought for was _effective_ in driving out the old prejudices.

The idea was ridiculous, and would probably backfire as soon as she and Malfoy killed each other because of the forced cohabitation. She had aired this concern, and vehemently so. It wasn’t the kind of responsibility that she wanted. She didn’t want to babysit _Malfoy,_ of all people. But it had fallen on deaf ears.

And so here she was.

As if on cue, Malfoy turned to look at her. “What?” She said irritably, giving him a glare.

“Woah, Granger.” He tutted, “I haven’t even said anything yet.”

“But you’re about to.” She pointed out, “And it’s bound to annoy me. I’m just getting ahead of you.”

“Ahh, there it is.” He smirked, he faked a hurt look, “Here I was, thinking that I don’t bother you anymore.”

“You don’t.” she answered crisply, focusing on her quills again, which had gone off-kilter because of the bumps from the movement of the train.

“Your reaction says otherwise.”

“What is your problem –”

But before she could truly explode, or finish her sentence, the _other_ Head Girl had dismissed the meeting. Relieved laughs burst from the younger years, and they stretched as they all moved to gather their notes.

* * *

She stopped him as he was about to retreat to his room.

They were in their shared common room. It was a comfortably sized room, warmed by a fireplace at one corner, with bookshelves that ran throughout two walls. Instantly, she had felt at home, but not quite, not until she had dealt with one minor problem.

“Malfoy.” She said, and she watched as she stopped in his tracks. She crossed her arms across her chest, bracing herself for the insult that was sure to follow.

But no insult ever came. He turned around, and raised an eyebrow, waiting for her to continue. “We’re not friends.”

“ _What_ and _astute_ observation, Granger.” He replied sarcastically, crossing his arms and leaning against the wall beside his door. “Ten points to Gryffindor.”

Rubies fell down from the hourglass over the fireplace. She filed away the information at the back of her mind, she didn’t know that their sham of a position allowed them to give House points. Malfoy, as usual, looked bored, but his eyes had flickered towards the hourglass too.

She fought back against the rush of annoyance, trying to keep her face from frowning. “As I was saying, we aren’t friends, but the war is over, and I’d like to move past it. We’ll be working closely throughout the year, and –”

“We’re not even going to work.” He snorted, leaning against the wall beside his door. “We’re just here as the poster boy and poster girl of peace, or whatever bullshit they invent for us to stand for.”

“That’s true.” She acquiesced. “But I’d rather do my part properly. I like to be thorough.”

“Ever the goody-two-shoe, aren’t you?”

“As if that’s a bad thing.” She said, rolling her eyes. She wasn’t ashamed of it. “We were given a job, and I’d like to do it well. What is in the past should stay there. I’d like to move on. Truce?”

He raised an eyebrow, and it she had to control the urge to hex the haughty expression on his face. Damn him. She was _trying_ here, and he wasn’t making it even remotely easy. “Just like that? You’re willing to put back 7 years of animosity behind for the sake of a _job_?”

“Yes.” She replied. “And as I’ve said. I want to move on.”

“I haven’t doubted it, Granger, but something’s wrong with your head.” He huffed. “You’re want me to believe that, after every insult, every slur, everything that I’ve done to you.”

She shrugged. It was her turn to raise a brow. “It’s not like I’m innocent, myself. I gave as good as I got. Your nose is still slightly crooked, haven’t healed properly, didn’t it?”

He gave her an affronted look, his hand automatically going up to his face to massage his nose.

“And during the war,” She added, struggling to find the right words. “When you – we didn’t have a choice. I know that. Our hands were forced. The choices we made, the context behind them – what I’m trying to say is, none of us had a choice, the only person to blame for the atrocities we saw, the acts we committed, is dead now. So I want to put this all behind.”

“You use _we_ as if _you’ve_ killed too, Granger.”

Her parents’ faces flashed in her mind, and she steadied herself against the wave of pain that crashed through her. As soon as she was released, she had tried to look for them in Australia. She had found them living in Melbourne, divorced, with new families of their own. She came back to England, alone, because after everything that she had done, she couldn’t bear to wrestle them away from their lives, _again._

“I might as well have.” She breathed, it felt like she was physically trying to push through murk as she tried to shift her focus back to the conversation. “And I know for a fact that you haven’t, Malfoy.”

“Read my case files, haven’t you?”

“It would be dumb of me to agree to work with you if I haven’t.”

She fixed him with a defiant stare, challenging him to question her logic, but he hadn’t. She waited for him to speak up, and when he didn’t, she steeled herself to say,

“So again, Malfoy. Truce?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Loved it? Hated it? Leave me a review! Please. <3


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi guys! Hope you like this new chappie!!

**_Draco_ **

“So again, Malfoy. Truce?”

He stared at her, not quire believing what was happening. He had braced himself for weeks of fights, insults and hexes shot. He hadn’t expected this. He was prepared for _more_.

Who was _this_ girl?

He studied her features. Mouth set, eyebrows together, shoulders back, all trying to look determined. Strong. But her eyes. With the multitude of dreams – of different _lifetimes_ – that he had spent staring at them, he was an expert on the minute differences that marked her emotions. Her eyes were telling him a different story.

They were unsure, resigned, and ultimately _tired_. None of the emotions you would normally feel when you profess forgiveness. This truce – whatever this was, was a sham.

But this was _Hermione Granger_. Offering an olive branch, however premature, was congruent to her character. Sure, he had expected her to fight him tooth and nail, to reach the point of almost killing each other, before she acquiesced that their lives would be better off without the constant threats and arguments. It wasn’t like her though, to be offering the said branch when she didn’t mean it.

Who was _this_ girl?

Where was _Hermione Granger_ , all around embodiment of honesty and righteousness. 

He glared at her outstretched hand, slightly shaking now from holding it up for too long.

“I’m not interested on your bogus declarations of peace, Granger.”

“Bogus?” she asked, indignant. She gave him a glare, and the fire in her eyes returned, before sputtering out again. Her whole demeanor changed, and she slumped. “I told you, I’m just tired, Malfoy. Animosity is an emotion that takes up too much of my energy. That’s the truth.”

He didn’t bother to reply. He would take her hand only when he truly deserved her forgiveness. He feared that he would never take it, no matter how much it tempted him to do so. Instead, he gave her a pointed stare before turning away, and disappearing into his room.

* * *

_Her eyes, and then darkness._

_He was familiar with the process now, of how the dreams began. He blinked, and he found himself staring at a girl._

_They were in a small room, with bamboo furniture littered around them. One corner had a large, open window, letting breeze and moonlight in. The light, although faint, illuminated the features of the girl resting beside him, and in it, she looked ethereal._

_Heitaro. It was his name in the dream. And the girl sleeping so soundly, wrapped around him, was Higo. Heitaro continued to stare, and Draco allowed himself to get lost in the rush of magical adoration that swept through him._

_Sometimes, he liked to pretend that it was really him who felt this flux of light and general sense of happiness. He liked to delude himself that he was someone who deserved to feel this much. Even just for a few stolen moments, a few stolen seconds._

_Heitaro continued to watch Higo, and Draco wasn’t complaining. With his life currently garbage as it was, he looked forward to these moments of complete and utter peace that these dreams afforded him._

_Suddenly, Higo’s eyes opened, and just as expected, Granger’s eyes greeted him. What wasn’t expected, was the look of pure fear that greeted her stare. The last time she looked like that – he couldn’t even think about it._

_He felt Heitaro’s surprise, growing as Higo started wailing._

_“Heitaro – my tree.” Higo said, sitting up and clutching Heitaro. Pain flashed across Higo’s features, and she doubled over. Clutching her leg, she looked at him with even more panicked eyes. “You have to – My tree!”_

_Dread washed through Heitaro, and then through Draco, who was mentally trying to keep himself together. He couldn’t go through this again – he couldn’t watch her suffer. He can’t._

_A wail broke his attempt at keeping himself together, and he watched as Heitaro tried desperately to calm his wife._

_“What are you talking about, Higo?” Came Heitaro’s distressed plea. “Tell me what it is.”_

_“My tree!” Higo insisted, trying to stand up, but failing. “My willow tree. You know where it is – they’re trying to cut it down.”_

_Understanding flowed throughout Heitaro, and Draco’s mind flashed with the image of a young, vibrant willow tree, branches swinging in the wind. He tried to push Heitaro to move, to_ do _something, but it was useless. He couldn’t control the hosts in these dreams._

_Her distress, so much like Granger’s, was palpable. Draco willed Heitaro to move – to do something. He willed him to save the girl with Granger’s eyes._

_Heitaro tensed, muscles bunching as he prepared to jump up in action, but even before he could move, Higo stilled._

_“Higo? Love? Talk to me.”_

_“It is done, Heitaro.” Higo whispered, eyes shining. “I’m… I’m…”_

_“No.” Heitaro said, and a crushing wave of pain threatened to consume Draco. He felt it even before he understood her words. “I was just – we were sleeping! It’s not true.”_

_The girl gave him the saddest smile, eyes watering. Draco had seen those eyes in all sorts of contexts. He’d seen them in laughter, in misery, in surprise, in disgust, in fear, in confusion, in almost all of the emotions one could ever have, but he had never seen them_ dying.

_Higo raised her hand, wincing at the effort. She gave him a tired smile, her cheeks dimpling as tears flowed over them. “My Heitaro, don’t despair. I have lived by your side, and it is enough.”_

_“No!” Heitaro cried, denial clouding the staggering amount of pain. “I don’t accept it! You have to fight, Higo. I’ll go to your tree – I’ll burn those people to the ground. I’ll –”_

_“It is my time.”_

_“It’s not! It can’t be. I refuse to accept –”_

_“But it is.” She gave a shaky exhale, and Draco watched the life fade from her eyes. “I’ll see you again.”’_

_Pain. Denial. Anger. Anger that consumed him, filled him. Pitch black, unforgiving, hungry for revenge. Hungry for retribution. Draco tried to fight the emotions away, to separate his feelings and thoughts from that of Heitaro’s, but he was sand compared to the tsunami that was rushing past him._

_Suddenly, he was there, standing on a riverbend, staring at a fallen willow tree, its branches caressed by the calm water. Men were dancing around it, holding a ritual of sorts, holding flames and trying to get them to stick to the willow’s tresses._

_He would burn them all._

Draco woke with a start. Hands clutching at his sheets, sweat staining his brow. He stood up, driven by fear, a reverberating chill seeping into his bones. He wrenched his bedroom door open, fighting hard to regain control. He crossed the hall, towards the room across from his. Her room.

With every step, he felt his consciousness gain more ground, he felt his rational mind win against the monster that was goading him, whispering terrifying things, painting scenarios he had spent the whole summer trying to block. Her face swam in his vision, a hundred different memories of a hundred different times. In each one, he recalled the life leaving her eyes.

His hand rested on the doorknob, and he wrested control, just in time for him to stop himself from turning it, from checking on her. He shook his head, willing away the absolute horror that he felt. Instead, he contented himself with listening closely for something – anything—that could tell him she was safe. Anything that could tell him that the lifeless eyes he had seen weren’t _hers_.

A huff. There, he could barely make it out. Standing still, holding his breath, he listened for more. A sigh, and a few sleepy mumbles filtered through her closed door.

The relief he felt brought him to his knees, but it couldn’t fully erase the fear that had ingrained into his mind.

* * *

More often than not, they were partnered for classes. By some rotten luck, or probably just Mcgonagall’s meddling, they were in much of the same ones, save for the mandatory court-sanctioned Muggle Studies that he was required to take.

By the third day, he had realized that their identical schedules were almost twice as packed as anyone else who had returned, or any of the other seventh years. Leave it to Granger to qualify for _all_ the NEWT classes, and actually _take_ them too.

Aside from the Granger-level course load, he was also combing through the Hogwarts Library, pulling out texts and cross-referencing them with books and journals that he had snuck from the Manor. It was slow work. Three weeks in and he was ready to throw away the next book that contained useless romantic drivel.

If he really wanted to know about soulmates and soul magic, he had to visit the Restricted Section. To do that, he would need a teacher’s pass, and the Hogwarts professors weren’t exactly lining up to gain his favor. The one mentor that he thought could have helped was lying in six feet under fresh gravel.

Taking out his frustration on his apple, he took a big bite before proceeding to squash it with his teeth, as if destroying the fruit into mush could make him feel better. He closed the book with a snap. He leaned against the Whomping Willow, watching the branches sway in the wind. Its long, graceful branches swatting at birds who were dumb enough to come near.

After a particular dream that he had had weeks ago, he had sought out the tree, mostly out of curiosity. He had approached, throwing caution to the wind, fully prepared to be whipped back. When he wasn’t, he had come close to the trunk, and the trees branches gently brushed across his hair, almost welcoming him like an old friend.

He had been terrified, of course. It was another glaring verification that his dreams weren’t just trifle visions brought about by the stress of the war. He had checked that route, too, even going as far as learning about Muggle Psychology. But, like all of his other leads before Lovegood’s words, it was a dead end. But now, despite his initial apprehension, he had appreciated the relative safety from curious, prying eyes, that the tree provided him.

He threw the apple core up, and the branches whipped up, blurring as it swatted it away.

“Nice shot.” He said aloud, and the tree patted his hair.

“Talking to trees now, Malfoy?”

Of course. Just when he had gotten the slightest sliver of peace, she would appear. It’s like he had killed Merlin himself in his past life. He probably had, what with the universe’s apparent decision to punish him with Hermione Granger’s existence.

“What do you want, Granger?”

“Nothing. I was just taking a walk.” She came into view, circling the willow, just shy of its whipping radius. He glared at her, and he used it as an opportunity to take her in. She was wrapped up in a godawful orange sweater, with a big, gaudy blue H knitted at the front. Her hair was as wild as ever, even with the Gryffindor red scarf wrapped around its owner’s neck.

“Never thought that you were a fan of Halloween, Granger.” He said snidely, “Not only do you look like a fright, those ghastly clothes look positively horrendous.”

“Har har, Malfoy.” She said sarcastically, coming to a stop directly in front of him. “Your humor knows no bounds.”

“As is your apparent lack of boundaries, it seems.” He retorted, “I told you, Granger. I’m not interested in your bogus peace. Leave me alone.”

She ignored him, picking up a long stick from the ground and poking at the knot that immobilized the willow’s branches. He huffed. Leave it to her to know how to disable the ancient tree.

“You didn’t have to do that, you know.” He commented, accepting the fact that she wasn’t leaving him alone any time soon. “The Whomping Willow won’t hurt you.”

“I’ve seen it throw Ron ten feet into the air, I’d rather not take any chances.”

“I would’ve paid to see that.”

She ignored him again, and marched towards him, depositing herself quite ungracefully to his right.

“And who invited you and the monstrosity that you call hair to sit here?”

“I invited myself.” She huffed. “The castle’s not yours, Malfoy. I can sit anywhere I please.”

“So why are you sitting in my space. Endless grounds and countless trees and you choose to plop yourself down here?”

He tried to ignore her presence beside him. He tried to push back memories of dreams that always tried to push their way to the surface of his mind whenever she was near. Honestly, the tension was getting bad. Most days, he spent trying to stop himself from jumping her. To kill or to kiss, he wasn’t quite sure yet.

“I can do whatever I want, Malfoy.”

“You haven’t answered my question, Granger. With all of your freedom, why would you want to sit beside _me_?” He asked, lowering his voice, adding flirtatious lilts to his tone. If she wasn’t going to be scared away by insults, he’d scare her away by flirting.

The excuse sounded flimsy, even to his ears. But he chose to run with that, anyway. Anything to deny the alternative explanation.

“Careful, Granger.” He continued. “I just may start to think that you can’t stay away from me.”

But it had the intended effect.

She sputtered, and blushed, skin glowing red. Her eyes flashed for a second, before she gave out an indignant huff. “In your dreams, Malfoy.”

His scathing retort stood frozen at the tip of his tongue. Her words, although said in jest, had hit close to home. He assessed her demeanor, her expression, searching for any clue that she was trying to fish out information from him. Was it possible? Was she dreaming of his eyes too?

Taking his silence as defeat, she rolled her eyes. “Of course, _you’d_ be stunned by the idea that the world doesn’t revolve around you, Malfoy.”

Her words held no malice, no underlying current of deception. She was _teasing_ him, without the intent to _hurt_. It added to his dumbfounded silence.

It was impossible, if she was having dreams like his, she would have come to him already. Demanded an explanation. Interrogated him to determine if he had cursed her or some other thing along those lines. Before she could read into his lack of a response more, he quickly gathered his thoughts, forcing himself to recover.

He cleared his throat, before replying. “The world does revolve around me, Granger. It’s just a fact.” He shrugged, acting nonchalant. “The sooner you accept it, the better it would be.”

She gave him a roll of her eyes, before smirking, “Glad to know that your ego is still the size of Africa.”

“And your hair is even bigger.”

“Back to insulting me again, Malfoy?” She quipped. “You’re not getting rid of me that easily. You’d need to come up of newer things to insult”

“Oh, believe me, Granger, I could give you a list of things that are positively grisly about you.” He said, glaring at her pointedly, before turning away. He wasn’t about to give up his spot, so maybe if he ignored her, she’d go away.

No such luck. “Malfoy, how did you get the tree to not turn you into confetti?”

“And why should I tell you that?”

“Because it might make me go away.”

A flash of irritation shot past him, and he was faced again with the overwhelming urge to jump her. To kiss or to kill. Now, it felt as if it was the latter.

“I’m not sharing my secrets with you.”

“Hmmm.” She said, shrugging and turning away from him. Finally, it looked like she had given up. He felt relief in her silence, but he also felt apprehension. Hermione Granger didn’t give up. She didn’t let things go. It was not in her nature.

This girl, who _was_ this girl?

There was that question again, but it wasn’t as if Draco had a right to question the difference. He had come out of the war changed too. He chose to let it go. He was the last person to have any say in what she was or wasn’t. A moment of blissful, much welcome silence stretched between them. Before she, of course, had to ruin his peace again.

“Malfoy.”

“What?”

“Can I ask you a question.”

“You’re already asking one.”

Silence. He counted to five, and he was at six when her voice popped up again.

“Why didn’t you identify us?”

He tensed. Ahh. So, she chose to forgo the last battle so that she could try to win this one. That wasn’t very Gryffindor of her. He wasn’t sure how to reply, because he himself hadn’t known why he didn’t in the first place. After a moment of deliberation. he decided to evade. “Why are you asking?”

“Am I not allowed to?”

“It seems useless, is all.” He answered with a shrug. “Why bother?”

“Because it doesn’t make sense.” She answered, and for the first time since they came back, he recognized her. The curious lilt in her voice, the obvious desire to make the world make sense.

He glanced at her, and the girl he saw was pre-war Hermione Granger. She wasn’t looking at him, but he could see that there was no resignation in her eyes, no defeat. Plain curiosity. It was as if he was looking at her in class again. Eyes bright, the clogs turning in her brain, waiting for an answer that he didn’t know if he was prepared to give.

“You would’ve gained more, if you gave us away.” She continued, “Your family would have been rewarded. You stood there, power at your fingertips, and you gave it up. You refused to identify us, even though it was obvious who we were, even though you knew that you would have been punished. It doesn’t make sense.”

Emotions burned through him, and he struggled to retain his stoic mask. “What you’re saying makes sense if I was the monster that you obviously think I am.” He said icily, standing up. He couldn’t be here, not right now. The memories were closing in, only his anger keeping them at bay, allowing him to continue, “You preach forgiveness. You had the gall to talk my ear off about _understanding_ what the war was like, what _living_ with that monster was like. You obviously _don’t_ , Granger.”

“Where are you going, Malfoy?” She said, standing up to follow him. He quickened his steps, but her insistent footsteps didn’t recede behind him. “Look, I wasn’t saying that! I didn’t mean it like that!”

He turned, he could taste his anger, bitter at the tip of her tongue. “And how did you mean it, Granger?”

He stepped towards her, towering over her, pinning her with a glare.

“You’re putting words in my mouth –”

“I can read between the lines –”

“—I wasn’t implying that you’re –”

“—and you’re obvious insistence that the smallest act of decency –”

“—evil, Merlin! I was asking –"

“—was _unthinkable_ from someone like me –”

“—what caused you to be brave!”

He stood frozen, almost nose-to-nose with her panting form. Her eyes were dark, pupils talking over her irises, her golden browns masked by the black. An angry blush had crept his way up his cheeks, almost matching hers. Catching his breath, she took her chance to elaborate her last statement. “Look, I was asking you _why_ , _how_ , _what_ was going on in your mind when you didn’t identify us. I was trying to _thank_ you.”

“And you don’t think that it’s offensive for me to hear you _thank_ me for doing the bare minimum of what any decent person would do? You don’t think that it isn’t _judgmental_ of you to be _surprised_ that I was capable of doing an _ounce_ of good?”

“You’ve never shown the inclination to have good intentions!” she said with an exasperated huff. “You already know that I think this, but you were a vile, loathsome, evil little cockroach to me and my friends for six years even before we stepped foot in your stupid Manor!”

“You’re equating the evil of a schoolyard bully to the evil of a murderer!” He roared, desperately keeping the memories of bodies on dining tables, of muggle children’s blood on broken basinets, on werewolves devouring a girl in a Hogwarts uniform at bay. “I might not have been your definition of _good_ , Granger, but I never was at the level of _evil_ that you’re implying me to be.”

“I wasn’t doing that!”

“Then tell me _why_ you’d _expected_ me to identify you. Tell me _why_ you’d think that I would have gladly been instrumental to you and your precious friends’ _deaths_. Tell me _why_ you assume that I would have _enjoyed_ living in a world where _children_ were killed by the dozen.”

She was silent, and he knew that he had gotten his point across. Understanding, then shame flitted through her features.

She looked down, and he turned and walked away from her.


	4. The Dryad

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: the universe is not mine, but JK Rowling's
> 
> I hope you enjoy this chapter!

**_Draco_ **

_Her eyes, and then darkness._

_“Love, what are you thinking about?” A voice from beside Draco asked, a deep baritone filled with warmth._

_He let his mind relax, and the information flooded through him. He and Granger – Itzamaaj, in this life – were Mayans. They were living in a lush island off of the coast of what was now Peru. In this life, he was a girl – Ixchel. They were lovers._

_“My sun.” Ixchel answered, in a voice reminiscent of that of Lovegood. Sleepy, as if she was dreaming._

_“Yes, my moon-eyed love?”_

_Ixchel glanced towards Itzamaaj, taking him in. He was tall, with deep coffee skin reflecting the harsh rays of the sun. He was seated across her, whittling away at a little piece of wood._

_“What do you think happens when we die?”_

_“The sun isn’t at it’s highest yet, and you’re already thinking about death?” Itzamaaj teased, flashing Ixchel a dazzling grin._

_Ixchel shrugged, staring off into the sea of green. Itzamaaj put down his knife and timber, making his way across the wooden slab that stood between them. Gently, he took Ixchel’s hands in his, raising a palm and caressing her cheek._

_“My moonlit girl.” Itzamaaj murmured, and Ixchel turned towards him. And once again, the sight of Granger’s eyes took Draco’s breath away. He wasn’t sure if it was him or Ixchel who sat there breathless._

_“I’m afraid, Itzamaaj.” Ixchel whispered. “The next eclipse is approaching, and you might be—I can’t even say it. It hurts me so much to think it.”_

_“Whatever happens, will happen.” Itzamaaj assured, giver Ixchel another dazzling smile. “I am yours. Nothing but death will separate us. I will wait for you, in the next life, and then the one after that.”_

_“And what if we don’t meet.”_

_“Then we try again in the next one, but you don’t have to worry about that. I will always, always, look for you.”_

_“Promise me.”_

_“My moon-eyed love, my moonlit girl. I promise.” Bringing their foreheads together, Itzamaaj stared at her, and Draco felt a rush of the familiar longing and adoration. “I will be with you always. I am yours to love today, tomorrow, and in the next life. I will find you, again and again. Death is just a pause, because nothing can stop my love for you.”_

_Ixchel nodded,and closed her eyes._

* * *

**_Hermione_ **

She was trying to be _good_ then it had imploded on her face.

It had been weeks since the start of classes, but the normalcy that she had desperately craved after winning the war was starting to come back. It was a slow process, and she still continued to see ghosts. An insipid laugh would remind her of Lavender’s, a flash of light would make her think of Colin, pink hair seen from across the halls led her to reminisce about Tonks, and then she’d make the connection to Lupin.

Everywhere she walked in the castle, she would be reminded of the battle. The screams, the curses thrown, the overwhelming amount of bodies lying on the floors.

But it was starting to get better now. Time spent being distracted by being up to her neck in classes seemed to be working. The screaming that she heard was fainter, visions of rubble dotting the corridors fading, the scent of blood in the air less noticeable.

She was getting better.

Slowly, she was fighting to go back to being herself again. Burning the midnight oil in the library, hanging out by the lake with Ginny, Neville, Luna, and occasionally Theo, who followed around their blonde friend like a puppy, as if he wasn’t a snake himself. She would laugh with everyone else as Seamus would set another object on fire, she would take the role of the strict, level-headed peer whenever the Gryffindors got too rowdy. She was slipping back, trying to claw her way into the girl that she had been.

She liked to think that she was succeeding.

So, one quiet Tuesday afternoon, when she was taking a walk across the castle grounds instead because Professor Sprout had assigned them an independent study period for her Advanced Herbology class, she had chanced upon Malfoy’s big blonde head and decided that she would _thank_ him.

Looking back, it was one of her admittedly _stupid_ decisions. She wasn’t really thinking as she approached the blonde. It was an oversight, a lapse on her part, because she _generally_ didn’t seek him out in the first place. After her botched proposal for a truce, she had decided that ignoring each other would be the path with the least risk of maiming, and apparently, he had as well, because they had enjoyed three weeks of silence from each other.

So she didn’t really understand why her feet had taken her towards him, but she had chalked it up to curiosity. He was sitting against an _active_ whomping willow after all, without a single scratch on him.

She had botched the interaction of course, offending him when all she was trying to do was say _thank you._ He… he had a _point_ though, and their fight had left her speechless, looking down at her shoes, shame forming a white-hot lump at her throat.

She was just honestly trying to be _thankful_.

“Earth to Hermione,” Ginny said from across the table, and Hermione struggled to focus back on her toast. “We lost you.”

“Err right,” she said, feeling an embarrassed blush color her cheeks. “Sorry, I was thinking.”

“When are you not?” Neville quipped, giving her a goofy smile before returning to his plant.

“Neville, you’ll get soil all over the table!” Dean groaned, flicking away specks of dirt.

“Sorry! It’s just that I hadn’t had time to go back for it after breakfast.”

“You could at least put it on the floor.”

She ignored the conversation, turning back towards her food, but when she looked back up, Ginny was still staring at her, scrutinizing.

“What’s wrong?” The redhead said, tilting her head. “You’re acting more distracted than normal. Spill.”

“I’m okay, Gin,” she said, shooting her friend a practiced smile. “I was thinking about the paper that Professor Flitwick assigned, is all.”

“You got that done two days ago.” Ginny said, narrowing her eyes. Hermione sighed; things were easier to hide when the Weasley by her side was Ron.

“I’ve been thinking about editing it.” Hermione amended. Technically, it _wasn’t_ a lie. She had been meaning to add another foot or so in her paper.

“You’re a bad liar, you know.”

“There’s nothing to lie about.” She replied, taking extra care to keep her tone steady.

She could see that Ginny wanted to say something more, but the redhead stopped mid-speech, as Hermione heard a deep cough behind her.

“Granger.”

She whipped her head around to see Malfoy standing behind her, fists clenched tight at his sides, probably tense from such close proximity to the Lion’s den.

“Malfoy,” she nodded her head in greeting. It had been a week since the fight near the Willow, and this was the first time that they had talked since then, going as far as ignoring each other for patrol last Wednesday.

“McGonagall wants us.”

With that, the blonde turned away, not even waiting for her to get her things. Hermione shot her friends a sheepish look, before gathering her books and rushing to follow the Head Boy.

She caught up to him near the Entrance Hall steps. Together, they ascended the staircase, going towards the Headmistress’s office. Two flights of steps and a few corridors later, Hermione couldn’t take the tension anymore. She squared her shoulders, bracing herself.

“Malfoy,” She said, stopping in her tracks. If she was going to apologize, she was doing it properly.

“What?” He stopped, turning back towards her before crossing his arms.

“About last week.” Hermione said, watching him for a reaction. His face remained stoic, almost bored. He raised an eyebrow at her, and she took this as a sign to continue. “I just want to clarify.”

“You couldn’t have been clearer, Granger.” He drawled. “It’s not like your opinion of me matters, anyway.”

“No, it’s not like that,” she said, “I wasn’t thinking like that, honestly. I just – I know, that what you did could have changed the outcome of the war -- profoundly. That small _ounce of good_ as you had put it, had such an enormous effect and no one has probably thanked you for it. You don’t even think that you _deserve_ to be thanked. But I wanted to – to thank you, not because I didn’t expect you to do it, but because I _survived_ because of it.”

He was quiet, observing her. His expression hadn’t changed, but the guardedness of his eyes softened, as if he was deep in thought.

She took the opportunity to take him in. Malfoy wasn’t the scrawny, pointy little boy who had a permanent sneer on his face. He had filled out, over the war. Muscular shoulders, a light seeker-fit frame, tall – probably taller than Ron now. His hair was still it’s pale moonlight blonde, but it wasn’t the slicked-back gel-caked slab on his head like it had been when they were younger. His locks fell in front of his forehead, but it all fell into place, as if being disheveled was against his genetic make-up. It probably was. His eyes were older, much deeper, probably from all the horrors they had seen during the war. Mercurial. Pretty, but extremely dangerous.

“If you’re quite done staring, I’m sure McGonagall is wondering where we are.” He smirked, not even acknowledging her apology. Well, she hadn’t exactly apologized, so maybe it was apt for him to not-exactly-forgive her either.

“Shut up, Malfoy.” She huffed, embarrassed at being caught. She walked forward, purposefully bumping her shoulder against him. He didn’t even budge. “You’re the one who’s staring.”

“Yes, I was wondering how many kneazles I could safely house in your hair.” He teased, walking along beside her.

“At least my hair’s still all _there_ ,” she said, pointedly glaring at his forehead. “Is that _balding_ I see?”

Before he could retort, McGonagall appeared in front of them, effectively silencing Malfoy. He shot her a frown before turning towards the Headmistress.

“Mister Malfoy, Miss Granger, follow me.”

She raised a brow at Malfoy, but he gave her a shrug. Quietly, they followed McGonagall down several flights of steps, before they exited through the door that led through to the Greenhouses.

“May I ask where we’re going, Professor?” Hermione said, curiosity eating at her.

“You’ll see when we get there, Miss Granger.” Mcgonagall replied, and a chill went down Hermione’s spine. Her tone was the same as the one she used when delivering bad news. Memories of the war burst through to the front of her mind, the days she spent healing people at Grimmauld Place, hearing McGonagall talk to people who had lost loved ones during one of the many of the skirmishes before the final battle.

Malfoy must have seen the look of horror on her face, and he tilted his head in question. She shook her head, staying silent, struggling to put her memories back into their respective boxes.

After a few more minutes, they entered the Forbidden forest. They made their way through it, until the density of the trees increased enough to block the sunlight from above.

* * *

**_Draco_ **

They were trudging through the Forbidden forest at _8 am_ , it was ridiculous. Right now, he would rather dissect Granger’s non-apology, which hadn’t exactly come as a surprise to him. He had spent the past week watching her and her internal struggle.

What had come as a surprise to him, was the _content_ of her apology itself.

He glanced at his counterpart, noting the curiosity practically emanating from her. He knew that she was dying to ask a question, but it had warred with her incessant need to respect authority. She would probably stay quiet until McGonagall decided to inform them about whatever it was that she was leading them to.

Admittedly, he was curious himself, but he was much more patient than Granger. Whatever this was, it was important enough to pull them out of class. He glanced at Granger again, amused that she looked like she was about to burst. She had the same expression that she donned whenever Snape ignored her during class.

He decided to take pity on her, but before he could ask the question for her, McGonagall stopped. The old witch turned around, and fixed them with a grave stare.

“I assume that you already know that what I’m about to show you is strictly confidential.” McGonagall said, pointedly looking at Hermione. Draco translated the statement in his head: Potty and Weaselbee wasn’t allowed to know.

He nodded, and before the witch could continue, a large figure emerged from the trees.

“Firenze!” Granger said from beside him, obviously pleased. He frowned at the centaur, watching carefully as he approached.

“Miss Granger, Mister Malfoy.” The centaur said, head held high. “Follow me.”

“Last night, the centaurs contacted me to report an incident.” McGonagall explained. “Due to the sensitivity of the matter, Minister Shacklebolt and I have decided to keep this information on a need-to-know only basis.”

He felt Granger tense beside him. He didn’t need to know that her curiosity was eating her up. His was, too, although he hid it better than she did hers. If this matter was confidential, he didn’t understand why _he_ would be here.

He decided to follow along, to continue to observe.

They walked through to a clearing. He heard faint sobbing, but he couldn’t see where it was coming from. It seemed as if the cries were from the trees themselves. He gripped his wand, readying for an attack. Inside the clearing, they were vulnerable. Cover was sparse, and anyone could fire spells at them within the relative safety of the thick trees.

He felt himself pass through a barrier of magic. Protective spells, from the feel of it. Probably another spell to sound-proof the area. If the Headmistress had brought them all the way here, whatever they see or hear would surely be important enough to be confidential.

Suddenly, a body of a girl with green skin came into view. She was tied down on a log, unmoving. Dead. Draco assessed his surroundings again, extra alert. He nonverbally cast a diagnostic spell, noting with a frown that levels of dark magic activity were registering as extremely high.

The forest was a place which was imbued with wild magic, which could sometimes run dark. It wouldn’t be an anomaly if spikes in the reading was detected, but the level was beyond that of anything that could occur naturally. The magic here had to be cast by an exceptionally powerful being of magic – someone or some _thing_ that was sentient enough to have the intent required for creating such dark magic.

On the corner of his eye, he noted that Granger had cast a similar spell, and he discreetly watched as her eyebrows knitted in confusion.

“Her body was found like this, and even though she’s in a grove surrounded by her sisters, no one had witnessed the murder.” McGonagall said, voice paper thin. Shaken. Draco observed the girl, and realized that she must have been a dryad – a spirit of the trees. “The ministry has already examined her and the surrounding area. They think that it is possible that she was murdered elsewhere, and that her life-tree is in another forest. None of the other forest spirits has ever encountered her before.”

They were within a few feet of the body now, and he heard a horrified gasp from beside him. He turned to look at Granger, noting her shrinking posture. He followed her terrified gaze, and zeroed in on the arm of the girl. Written on her forearms, were words, in handwriting that he had seen everyday since the beginning of term.

_Mudblood. You’re next._

He didn’t need to confirm that the dead girl’s wounds were almost identical to that of the scars of the girl beside him. He had been there when _she_ was carved, and the memory was seared into his brain. An overwhelming rage engulfed him, and he had to brace himself against the intensity of the emotion.

Hundreds of voices, heard from hundreds of dreams, shouted against his skull. _I will burn them all._

Who had _dared_ to threaten her? She was _his_.

He almost took a step back, not just from the voices, but the feeling of possession that _had_ come from him. Its intensity was a force to be reckoned with, fueling his anger, but the surprise was enough for him to gain control. He clenched his fists, careful to stand as still as possible, afraid that the slightest movement would make him loosen his grip on his base instincts.

He tried to clear his mind, shoving his manic thoughts inside mental cages of iron and steel.

“Professor… is that?” The girl beside him said in a panicky voice. Draco closed his eyes, shielding his mind, building more and more mental cages as thoughts more violent than the last filled his head.

“I’m afraid it is, Miss Granger.” McGonagall said somberly. “Kingsley and I decided that it would be wise to inform you of the threat.”

“I don’t understand. _She’s_ dead. Is she--”

“Bellatrix is dead. Andromeda confirmed her body’s identity personally.” McGonagall said in a reassuring voice. Draco continued to struggle, to his relief, he was mostly ignored by the two witches, but he could see that the centaur was looking at him thoughtfully.

“Death Eaters.” Granger said sharply, and Draco watched as her fear become replaced by calculation.

McGonagall nodded. “There is a high probability that whoever did this was part of Voldemort’s minions. However, it could be anyone. Your scar has been seen by every witch and wizard in the UK by now. Although the amount of dark magic present on the body could limit potential suspects.”

“Dryads are spirits of the forest. Their magic is wild, but pure. It could not be easily corrupted.” Firenze added. The centaur’s gaze left Draco and travelled towards the dead girl. “Whoever did this cast magic dark enough to extinguish her life force. The weapon they used to gouge out her scars would have been powerful enough to surpass the natural healing of the spirit.”

The pop of apparition broke through the tense silence. Draco whipped towards the source of the sound, pointing his wand and simultaneously blocking Granger from the threat, not realizing his actions until after a second of doing so.

If the stranger had been able to apparate in, it had to mean that they were outside of the boundaries of the school, making the situation ten times more dangerous.

“Put down your wand, Mr. Malfoy, Miss Granger.” Shacklebolt said in a deep baritone. Reluctantly he lowered his wand, but he didn’t put it away. From the corner of his eye, he could see that Granger had done the same.

The centaur backed away towards the forest as Shacklebolt approached, but it didn’t seem to bother him. The man’s attention was fixed on Draco and Granger’s stances.

“Minerva, you’ve informed them of the situation?”

“I have.”

Shacklebolt nodded. “You already know that this might have been from the activity of rogue Death Eaters. It could also may be from an unknown threat. Do you have questions?”

Granger probably had a thousand of them, so he decided to insert his before she could start with her tirade. He steadied himself, making sure that his emotions were in check before saying, “Why am I here?”

“Mr. Malfoy, your purpose will be discussed shortly.”

He gave a curt nod, not entirely satisfied with the answer.

“Are there any materials recovered from this site?” Granger asked, dam finally breaking.

“The ropes have absorbed residue that dates older than what the site currently has, but we haven’t detected any weapons or other incriminating evidence.”

“Which forest is she from?”

“We don’t know yet. Unspeakables has been called in to perform apparition assessment spells on her body, but it had proved resistant. Whoever had done this was thorough. Until we receive reports from the DMLE aurors of any suspicious activity within forests, we have no leads.”

“What am I allowed to say to Harry and Ron?”

Shacklebolt and McGonagall exchanged a brief glance. Draco tried to ignore the body on the forest floor, because every time his eyes passed through those three words, he could feel his rage come back.

“Miss Granger, because the matter is sensitive, only those with high enough clearance are privy to the information.” McGonagall explained. “Mr. Potter and Mr. Weasley, as Junior Aurors, do not have the authority to be informed.”

“Why? If _I_ have a target on my back, they might have as well!” Granger huffed, her hair getting bigger along with her anger. “You’re endangering them by keeping them in the dark!”

“Their superior has been notified, Hermione.” Shacklebolt said, dropping previous formalities. “They are safe, training in an undisclosed location together with other Junior Aurors. They _will_ be informed after they come back, but right now, it’s imperative that we keep this incident under wraps. Seeing as it may spark a bout of copycat killings.”

“How safe are they there? You can’t just let them be blindsided!”

“I assure you, Hermione, they’re as safe as they can be. Their training would prepare them, and their location is impregnable –”

“Azkaban was impregnable until it wasn’t!”

“That’s enough, Hermione.” McGonagall said, “Harry and Ron are safe. You have my word for it. It is _yourself_ that you have to worry about.”

Another bout of rage filled Draco, making him grip his wand tighter. He felt his nails breach the skin of his palm, blood seeping through the wand.

“The situation calls for the utmost secrecy. Until we know enough, we have to contain this incident.” Kingsley continued, “ _You_ are the primary target, and _you_ are the one who is the most vulnerable. Hogwarts has been breached before, and we are afraid that it might be again.”

“Do I have to leave?” Granger said in a quiet whisper, crestfallen.

“No. Right now, it would raise to many questions. Your disappearance would sow fear in the masses.”

“It’s fine, I can take care of myself.”

“Yes, but you can never be too careful.” McGonagall replied, and then turned towards Draco. “This is why Mr. Malfoy has also been called here.”

Shacklebolt was also looking at him, assessing Draco as he himself assessed the older man. “Mr. Malfoy will be assigned to watch your back. As part of your court sentence, you will be mandated to help ensure Miss Granger’s safety.”

“You brought me here so I can babysit Granger?”

“Malfoy?” Granger sputtered; her anger replaced by surprise. “What can he do?”

Draco shot her a withering glare, “Underestimating me, Granger?”

“Mr. Malfoy has a particular skill set that we can utilize.” Shacklebolt assured her. “The vows he took during the war ensures his loyalty to the Order, but more importantly his position as a double-agent assures us that his loyalties were kept secret. As far as any Death Eater knows, he was loyal to their cause.”

“You were a spy?” Granger asked, turning towards him. “Why weren’t we informed?”

“If you knew, Granger, I wouldn’t have been doing my job right.” He quipped, meeting her glare.

“But you were tried! There was no record of it on your case files!”

“Do you think that any of the rogue Death Eaters would have left my family alone if I wasn’t? My mother’s actions were expected, seeing as they all knew that she would have done anything for her son. But my actions? My betrayal? It would have made them furious. They would have targeted her just for the sake of revenge.”

“Mr. Malfoy has refused to let the truth about his loyalties surface after the war.” McGonagall spoke up, momentarily breaking apart the glaring match that he was currently having with Granger. For the first time in weeks, her eyes were burning bright.

“As such, we had no choice but to put him up for trial.” Shacklebolt said. “And because of that, majority of the rogue Death Eater population was kept in the dark about his true loyalties. We believe that because of the circumstance, along with his position as Head Boy, discreetly assigning him as your protection detail would raise less questions than drafting aurors to follow you around.”

“And why do you think I would even need protection, Kingsley?” Granger huffed indignantly, “I held my own during the war. I can handle whoever it is that’s stupid enough to attack me.”

“Even the most senior of Aurors are assigned partners, Hermione.” McGonagall said. “It is only prudent for you to have one as well. You can’t always be expected to watch your back, and Mr. Malfoy here is the perfect candidate to do so.”

“He hates me!” Granger argued, and Draco felt a surge of annoyance. “He’d probably step aside and let a hex hit me behind my back!”

Shacklebolt looked at him, and Draco narrowed his eyes in warning. When he had defected from Voldemorts ranks, it had been Shacklebolt who had inspected his memories. The man had seen his dreams. It was probably why they were entrusting him the Golden Girl in the first place. He didn’t care for their reasons, as it would serve Draco to have an excuse for any future lapses in controlling the sudden protective streak that he had had for her, but if the man tells Granger about it when he himself wasn’t ready to say anything yet, blood would be spilled.

Shacklebolt turned towards the girl beside him. “His vows won’t let him do that, Hermione.”

“Miss Granger, would you rather have two Aurors follow you around full-time?”

“No!” The brunette said, crossing her arms. “I told you, I don’t need protection.”

“You do, Hermione, and that is final. Either way, your safety is of the utmost priority. We will consider this as a direct threat to _you_ in particular, and as such, we are going to take precautionary measures. It’s either you choose the Aurors, or Mr. Malfoy.”

“That’s not much of a choice!”

“You are in _danger_ , Miss Granger.” McGonagall said, words heavy. “This is non-negotiable.”

After a few moments, Granger bit out a stilted, “Fine.”

Shacklebolt nodded tensely, knowing that that was the best the he would be able to get out of Granger. Draco knew that her stubborn nature would make her bend the rules eventually, but for now, her consent to be protected was enough to assuage the sense of protectiveness that he was currently keeping in check.

He would dissect the newfound feelings later. They might be related to his dreams, regardless, they were there and it didn’t look like he could overpower them anytime soon, so he decided to focus on the current situation.

“Nothing would have to change about your day-to-day schedule. Seeing as you _do_ have enough skills to handle yourself or any threats on your person, you wouldn’t be restricted. The only thing that has to change is Mr. Malfoy’s increased presence around you.”

“Joy.” Granger said dryly, and Draco rolled his eyes.

“The teachers were already informed about your initial arrangements, and we will be using the campaign for unity as an extra front for the secrecy. It will also explain your increased _cordial_ public interactions” McGonagall explained. She fixed them with a pointed stare, obviously implying that their weeks of ignoring each other had to end.

“You haven’t asked me why I would be willing to do this.” Draco said, knowing that Granger would have been suspicious if he didn’t present an acceptable enough reason to “protect” her. “I want extra protection for my mother. She may not have been targeted, but if rogue Death Eater activity has been spiking, I want to know that she’ll be safe from any impending attacks.”

“Done.” Shacklebolt nodded. “We cannot remove her from her House Arrest at the Malfoy Manor, but Aurors will be stationed there for her safety.”

“That’s not enough.” Draco argued. “The wards at the Manor have been corrupted by the mad man. Anyone who was dangerous enough had been allowed access during the war, and are familiar with the surrounding terrain. You would be leaving her vulnerable, trapped in a cage that could be breached by anyone with a wand. I want her moved to a safehouse.”

“Mr. Malfoy, moving your mother would spark talk –”

“It isn’t as if she could be _seen_ , as it is. No one is allowed to visit the manor anyway, and no one would be able to check if she really _is_ there. There are other Malfoy properties that are better warded. Moving her to a smaller, much more protected location wouldn’t raise as much talk as two Aurors who could come home from their shift and slip information after one too many firewhiskeys.”

Shacklebolt’s eyes lowered into slits. “You drive a hard bargain, Mr. Malfoy.”

“Those are my terms.” He shrugged, bluffing. He would do it anyway, seeing as his instincts told him that Granger was important in all of this, and apparently, important to _him_. He had learned to trust them, during the war, and he wasn’t about to stop now.

“Alright.” Shacklebolt acquiesced. We will move her to one of _your_ safehouses, and we will limit her guards to witches who can be tight-lipped.”

Draco nodded, and a weight lifted from his shoulders. At least now, he would be able to investigate how his dreams, Granger, and his newfound protectiveness all tied together. There was still something that he was missing, and he needed to know if he wanted to navigate the situation properly.

“You will be excused from your classes for the rest of the day,” McGonagall stated, and Draco knew a dismissal when he heard one. With an indulgent smile directed to Granger, the old witch added, “I’m sure that you want to research about what you came across today.”

They both backed away, as the Minister and Headmistress proceeded to discuss other matters. They passed through the barrier, and entered the darkness of the forest. When they were out of earshot, Granger suddenly rounded on him, and her eyes appraised him.

“Malfoy, we need to talk.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I would like to thank everyone who has given this work their sweet kudos! And I want to send virtual cookies to AUConn, DontStopHerNow, sperrywink, DramionEverlarkPeetatoRichonne, and Lixi for their wonderful reviews!!! All my love for all of you <3


	5. Paper Dragons

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: Universe not mine, but JKR's!  
> AN: Hi guys! Hope you enjoy this one!

_**Hermione**_

“Malfoy, we need to talk.”

Malfoy gave her a tense nod. “Not here.”

Without further ado, he led her through the forest, following the general direction that they had taken before. He strode across the trees, and they walked through the grounds together in silence. Ignoring the stares of the third years who were currently in Greenhouse 1 for Herbology, they made their way into the castle, up five flights of steps, into three corridors, and through the secret alcove that revolved to show them their quarters.

Immediately, he started warding their rooms, his magic layering above the castle’s inherent enchantments. Hermione was about to tell him off for his paranoia, but decided that what he was doing _was_ prudent. She too, started to work quietly beside him, strengthening the anti-intruder spells on the windows, adding additional layers to the wards that he was building.

They worked in silence for another thirty minutes.

When they were done Malfoy made his way towards the couch, falling gracefully across the pillows. Hermione herself opted to sit in front of the fire, on the pillows that she had left there the night before.

It wasn’t cold in their common room, but the events of the past hour had chilled her to her core.

“Must you sit on the floor, Granger?”

She glared at him, “There are blankets and pillows here, Malfoy.” She then shrugged, “I find it easier to center myself like this. You should try it sometime.”

He shot her a disgusted look, “Malfoys don’t sit on _floors._ ”

“But you’d sit on grass?”

“Grass is grass, Granger. The floor is the floor.” He elucidated slowly, as if talking to a small child.

“Suit yourself.” She sighed, rolling her eyes. Massaging her temples, she cut to the chase, “Do you have an idea about who might have done this?”

“A few names come to mind.” He said, deep in thought. “The centaur was right. Whoever did the job was powerful enough to overcome the wild magic of whichever forest the Dryad had tied her life to. Most of the mad man’s followers were inbred idiots who couldn’t tell their left shoe from their right, so it certainly narrows down the list.”

“Coming from an inbred idiot yourself,” Hermione said, and she immediately regretted the insult from the stony glare that Malfoy gave her.

“Malfoys have _always_ been careful about breeding, and you can’t exactly call someone who beats _you_ at potions an idiot.”

“Sorry, force of habit.” She amended sheepishly, raising her hands in mock surrender. “You were saying?”

“Let me remind you, Granger, that I’m only forced to _protect_ you. I don’t even have to _help_ you.” He said, standing up.

“Sit back down Malfoy, I was only teasing.” She said, biting her lip. He stared at her for a second before sitting back down. “What do you want?”

“For what?”

“What do you want for your help? Don’t act slow.” She clarified. Seeing as she wasn’t allowed to discuss this problem with anyone else, she had no choice but to enlist his help. He _was_ right, he wasn’t an idiot. Surely, she could solve this alone, but working with someone as intelligent as Malfoy would get her answers faster. “Isn’t that how Slytherins work?”

“Learning to speak my language, I see.” Malfoy smirked, before settling back down on the couch. He examined his nails, looking disinterested. “However, I don’t think there’s anything that you possess that actually interests me.”

She rolled her eyes. He wasn’t going to make this easy for her. “There’s must be something you want –”

“Nothing that _you_ can give.” He said in a dismissive tone. “But I am _bored_ , so I might as well help you. The earlier this whole thing is solved, the faster I can go back to my previously blessed existence of ignoring you.”

“Thank you.” She said brightly, flashing him a bright smile. His expression went tense for a moment, and before he could take back his words, she soldiered on.

“Back to the suspects. You said you had people in mind. Tell me who they are.”

He rattled off a few names of notable Death Eaters, and some who she hadn’t known. She memorized each one, wracking her brain for information that could link them to the Dryad.

“Which one do you think is the most likely?”

“Dolohov, probably.” He said, expression of deep thought back. She watched him as his body slumped forward, hands touching his chin. His fringe was almost covering his eyes, but she still saw them darken. “He particularly hated _you_.”

“He probably holds a grudge from the whole Department of Mysteries fiasco.” Hermione mused. “How about Jugson? He was Dolohov’s partner; I got his head turned into a baby.”

“Did you now?” Malfoy raised a brow, “It couldn’t be him. His brains never returned to that of an adult, not that his intellect was as advanced in the first place.”

Hermione laughed, before clamping down the sound with her hand. She was laughing. At something _Malfoy_ had said. She didn’t think that she could take any more surprises today.

“Mulciber, Yaxley, and Rabastan Lestrange would also be powerful enough. Or at least evil enough to cause that.” Malfoy said, expression stoic, but his eyes danced with mirth.

Hermione nodded. “I’ll need a copy of the shortlist of the names of your suspects.”

“As if you haven’t already memorized them, Granger.”

“I _have_. But I like to be thorough. In copies of three, please.” She replied, to which Malfoy just rolled his eyes. “I think the weapon used could be a good lead as well. Bellatrix used a knife. I had tried to spell it dull with non-verbal charms, but my magic couldn’t even touch it. Goblin made, perhaps?”

Malfoy stared at her for a moment, before replying. “Yes. Post-mortem wounds wouldn’t heal through normal potions or spells, so we have no way to check if it was similarly cursed as the one that inflicted your scar.”

She nodded. She had thought that talking about the torture would have been easy, seeing as it was already an event of the past, but memories tried to swallow her, and she struggled to push them back into their respective boxes.

“Look, Granger, we don’t have to talk about this.” Malfoy started, looking uncomfortable, shoulders tense.

“We do. I want to.” Hermione insisted. “Avoiding the problem is the worst thing I can do. I’d rather suffer through memories now than actually suffer later just because I choose to be ignorant and get blindsided. Tell me about the knife, were you familiar with it.”

Malfoy gave her another unreadable look, before his features relaxed into a smirk. “Yes, of course. We Blacks regularly give the next generation weapons as toys. I had a similar knife just like it with me in my crib.”

“So no, then.” She said, rolling her eyes again. Honestly, spending time with Malfoy was bound to strain her eye muscles.

“Other weapons could have been used. Anything pointy, really. We don’t have confirmation that it _was_ a knife.”

“If the Killer was detail-oriented enough to copy Bellatrix’s handwriting, down to the extra gash under the first O, then I’d say that he or she would have also copied the weapon used. Besides, Rapiers would have been hard to control to get precise enough strokes, razors wouldn’t be able to get those curves in the letters, we’re looking for a small, pointed knife.”

“I’m not even going to ask why you have such an extensive knowledge on carving flesh.”

“I used to whittle as a kid.” She shrugged, “Carving _wood_ helped me calm down enough to think.”

“Like sitting on floors do?”

“Like sitting on floors.”

“Interesting.” Malfoy said, but his tone lacked any sarcasm. Hermione chanced a glance at the blonde, noting his stormy expression.

“What’s wrong, Malfoy? Does whittling offend your extremely delicate sensitivities?”

He didn’t answer her, rolling his eyes.

“I have to go to the library.” She said, already organizing the information in her head. She wanted to follow some leads, and she was pretty sure that the Restricted Section had a book on cursed knives somewhere.

She stood up, dusting down her skirt. She made her way towards the Common Room exit, and she felt Malfoy stand to follow her.

“What are you doing, Malfoy?”

“Following you, of course.”

“You don’t have to. It’s the library.” He ignored her, following her out into the corridor. “Seriously, Malfoy. I don’t need you to follow me around. I am perfectly able to protect myself. The minister and headmistress were just being paranoid.”

“Look, Granger, suck it up.” He said brusquely, shouldering his way past her. “I need to uphold the deal with Shacklebolt if I want my mother safe. I’m not letting your pride get in the way of that.”

Hermione huffed, crossing her arms. She had expected him to leave her alone the moment Minerva and Kingsley had turned their backs.

Speeding up to catch up to him, she gave him a glare, before saying, “Fine. But if you insist on not leaving me alone, then you’re helping me do research.”

* * *

**_Draco_ **

_Her eyes, and then darkness._

_He came to awareness with the smell of sage._

_“Hand me the Hemlock.” A deep voice said. His. He allowed the information to wash over his consciousness. He was a knight, in this life. Tristan, of_ the _King Arthur’s guard. An apprentice of_ the _Merlin too. He was overwhelmed with the information. Draco had_ known _Merlin._

_Surreal._

_“Isn’t that poisonous?” A clear feminine voice from beside him. Draco wanted to look at her, but his host was intently focused on the potion brewing in front of him. A picture of the owner showed up in his mind though. A girl with long, red hair. Iseult._

_Their hands touched, and Draco felt the rush of magic._

_“For muggles, yes.” Tristan answered. “But you and I are not muggles.”_

_“A few unexplained supernatural things happening around me does not a witch make.”_

_“That’s exactly what magical people are.” Tristan shrugged, “Pass me the dried toadstool.”_

_“You can reach that.” Iseult huffed stubbornly, but handed him the bunch of mushrooms anyway._

_“Maybe I just like touching you.”_

_“You’re much too forward for a Knight, sir.”_

_“You’re not a proper lady yourself.” Tristan chuckled, before stirring three more times. He turned towards the girl, pulling her close. “Whatever would your father say when he finds out that his beloved daughter is alone in his castle’s dungeon with a too-forward knight.”_

_“He’d have your head, sir.”_

_Iseult chuckled, and Draco relished the rush of pure goodness that came from her touch. He’s had dozens of these dreams, and the feeling was still as intense as the first time. Along with Tristan, Draco’s mind gradually relaxed, as Iseult pulled away from his embrace._

_“Let him have my head. Having you here with me is worth the risk.”_

_Tristan stared at Iseult, and Draco was greeted by Granger’s deep brown eyes, the only thing familiar in his surroundings. Iseult raised her hands, resting on Tristan’s cheeks, before leaning in. She kissed him softly, tentatively, as if he was glass. Tristan kissed back, nibbling her lower lip. Iseult smiled, and he took the opportunity to plunge his tongue into her._

_Their tongues battled for dominance, and Tristan tightened his grip around his girl. Snaking up her back to hold her neck. He massaged her nape, and she gave the softest moan. Tristan pulled away, resting his forehead on Iseult’s, trying to catch his breath._

_She stared up at him, pupils dilated so much that only a small ring of brown was left, smiling up at him adoringly. Draco felt Tristan’s heart clench at the sight, and a sense of contentedness washed through his being. If only he could stay in these dreams. Every time he dreamt, it was harder and harder to remember that it was not his life. Her looks, her smell, the feeling of their magic connecting was like a drug. He wanted more and more of the feeling each time._

_“Your potion’s going to burn.”_

_“Let it burn.”_

_He leaned in again, capturing her lips. This time, their kiss was much, much more intense. The softness giving way to hard nips, fingers scratching, hands roaming all over. He felt her melt into him, as much as he was melting into her. Suddenly, Iseult pulled away, lightly tapping Tristan’s chest._

_“We’ve been here all evening. I’m not about to ruin your work for something we can do later.”_

_Tristan faked a pout. “You’re no fun.”_

_“And you, Sir, are entirely too easy to distract.”_

_“Only when it comes to you.”_

_Iseult let out a high peal of laughter, before pushing him back towards his potion. Tristan turned towards the cauldron, noting that it was near ready now. He added crushed moonbeam, and the liquid turned into a beautiful pale gold._

_“Will this even work?”_

_“Oh, ye of little faith,” He admonished lightly, flashing her a grin. “Merlin himself gave me this recipe. He had found it in some obscure text, and he says that the alchemy behind it is flawless.”_

_“You put too much faith in that wizard.”_

_“I put my faith into people who deserve them.” He answered as he took a vial, measuring out two doses. Giving one to Iseult, he watched as she inspected the liquid._

_“And if this doesn’t work, what do we do?”_

_“It’s designed to bind our magic together, to allow us to find each other even through adversity.” Tristan explained again, reassuring her._

_“It doesn’t take away the said adversity.”_

_“It doesn’t.” Tristan said, “But any obstacle is worth going through knowing that you will be at the other side.”_

_“I’d rather you not have to fight another Dragon again. Isn’t there a potion for_ that? _”_

_“If you don’t want to take it, then you don’t have to. You know that.”_

_“It’s not that I doubt you,” Iseult explained, bringing her free hand back to his cheek. “It’s just that I don’t want false hope.”_

_“Coming from the lady who believes with all of her being on hope?”_

_“That’s different!” She exclaimed, “Hope is something you hold on to when there’s nothing left to hold. We have our whole future together resting on our hands. This potion, I’m afraid that it might blind you. Blind us. Lull us into making mistakes that we can’t afford to make.”_

_“With this potion, no mistake I will ever make will lead me to losing you. That’s all I’ll ever want.”_

_“I’d rather you be careful enough to_ not _make the mistake in the first place.” Iseult said dryly, eyeing him levelly._

_He set his vial down on the table, before pulling her close again and resting his forehead on hers._

_“I promise you,” He vowed. “I will be careful.” He leaned in for a peck. “I will be smarter,” another peck, “And I will do everything in my power to avoid getting my head cut off by your father.”_

_“You jest, but you’re practically on the Beheader’s list, what with the stunt you pulled with Mark yesterday.”_

_“He was looking at you funny.” Tristan grumbled._

_“No need to be jealous, Sir.” Iseult smiled, her thumb caressing his frown back into a smile of his own. “You know I’m yours.”_

_“As I am yours.”_

_They stood together quietly, foreheads touching, hearts beating to a rhythm that was entirely theirs._

He shook himself awake, rubbing the sleep away from his eyes. He felt dregs of the high from the dream, making him want to go deeper under his covers. He’s had a monster of a time lately, what with preparing the Assos Villa and Granger’s incessant need to be at the library as much as she could.

Groaning, he glanced at the clock, frowning at the time. If he didn’t hurry, Granger would leave him behind again. Twice now, since last week, that had happened, and each time had led to an explosive fight.

Stubborn witch.

As fast as humanely possible, he showered, donning his robes and grabbing his wand, making his way to the common room.

She was already there, waiting for him, foot tapping on the stone.

“You’re late.”

“I’m surprised that you haven’t left yet.”

“I didn’t think that thrashing our common room again was worth the five extra minutes it took for you to fix your hair.”

“You waited all this time, and you couldn’t have fixed yours?” he said sarcastically, before walking up to her.

“When are you going to get tired of insulting my hair.”

“It’s your best feature. A couple of years more, probably.”

He gestured for her to lead the way, and they exited out of the room, walking towards the Great Hall.

She then proceeded to talk about her research, and he decided to tune her out. It was too early to try to keep up with her mind. He couldn’t possibly be expected to understand her take on complex magical arithmancy before he had at least two cups of tea in him.

He was daydreaming of steaming hot cups of Darjeeling when she gave an irritated huff, pulling him from his sleepy daze.

“Malfoy, are you even listening?”

“You’re going to repeat this lecture with diagrams later, anyway.”

She rolled her eyes, before continuing. “As I was saying, I want to try to go to Bulgaria. Viktor told me that he’d let me browse through his family’s library. Maybe I can browse more books on cursed knives. Hogwarts is seriously lacking.”

“What a blasphemous thing to say about the library.” He teased, before frowning as he realized who _Viktor_ was. “You’re still talking to Krum?”

“Of course. We’re pen pals.”

“Pen pals.” He snorted, “What do you even talk about? Quidditch?”

She rolled her eyes, adjusting her book back. He covertly shot it a stabilizing charm while she was distracted with adjusting the books that she insisted on carrying, as if her bag didn’t have an illegal extension charm already on it (he had checked after she pulled out a 3 by 3 foot whiteboard on their second research day).

“Don’t be daft, we talk about arithmancy.”

“As if that’s as exciting.”

She rolled her eyes again, “You know, Malfoy, just because you’re horrible at something doesn’t mean that other people can’t enjoy it.”

He snorted, “My grades in arithmancy are second to yours.”

“A fact that you never let me forget.” She said. “Anyway, back to Bulgaria. I’m planning to visit during the winter holidays, since Viktor said that he’d come home from tour then too. I wasn’t planning on telling anyone, but since you raise such a fit whenever I walk alone to breakfast, I figured that you might explode if I took a covert trip alone out of the country.”

“Your concern for my welfare is astounding, Granger.” He said dryly. “It melts my heart.”

“As if there’s anything there to melt.”

It was his turn to roll her eyes. “Didn’t think to ask me about the Manor Library first, did you?”

She blushed, flashing him a cheeky grin. “I was hoping that you’d send me the books before I leave for Bulgaria.”

He raised an eyebrow, before nodding. “Fine. But you’re not leaving the country alone. I’m coming with you. Owl me the specifics, and I’ll arrange the portkey.”

“I was hoping that you wouldn’t go. _Technically_ , you’re only supposed to watch my back at Hogwarts, you know.”

“And if you die on your little trip, what would become of my mother then?” He snapped. “It’s been a week, Granger. By now you should know that I’m very thorough when it comes to protecting people who are important to me.”

He realized his slip a second after the words left his mouth. He chanced a glance at her, but her expression was still pinched in stubbornness. Hopefully, she _didn’t_ interpret that the way _he_ did.

“Fine.” She huffed, nodding. “You can come, but you can’t nitpick Viktor’s hospitality.”

“I can behave, you know.” He said sardonically. “I’m perfectly charming. You’re the one who has to contain your infatuation.”

“You can’t blame me for being apprehensive, what with your track record.” She pointed out.

“Touche.”

“And I’m _not_ infatuated with Viktor! Honestly, you’re like Ron.”

“One word, Granger: Ew.” He said, taken aback, disgusted to be compared to _Weasley_ of all people.

She shook her head at him, slowing down just as they reached the Great Hall’s doors. “I’ll see you in class, Malfoy.”

“I’m waiting for you in the alcove on the second floor.”

She snorted, “You’re going overboard. I won’t be alone, anyway. Neville has Advance Herbology with us, I won’t be walking alone.”

“It’s not my fault none of your friends have the intellectual capacity to get into the classes that _you_ got into, leaving you alone most of the time.”

“I just told you that Neville’s there too!”

“Whatever, Granger.” He said, opening the doors, drawn by the smell of bacon. “Try not to read while you eat, will you? It’ll be a bother to cross the Great Hall just to save you from choking on your muffin.”

* * *

**_Hermione_ **

“Granger.”

“What?”

“Granger.”

“What!”

“I’m bored.”

Hermione looked up, flashing him an annoyed glare. “It’s been four hours, Malfoy.”

“It’s been _four hours_.” He groaned, slumping down and pushing the book he was holding away from him, giving her a petulant glare.

“Then leave.”

He rolled his eyes, before running his hand through his hair. She watched the motion before she caught herself, forcing her eyes back on to her book.

“Don’t you ever take breaks?”

“I do.” She said pointedly, “But you bothering me has taken up all of my breaktime.”

He sat back, waving his wand, charming her research notes into two miniature dragons who proceeded to snap at each other a foot from their table. She frowned at him disapprovingly. “If you ruin my notes, you’ll have to rewrite them again.”

“It’s not like you need them.” He said with a flick, and the two origami dragons threw mini fireballs at each other.

“Is that fire, Malfoy?” She said, aghast. “We’re in the library!”

“No need to look so scandalized, Granger.” He said, willing one of the paper dragons to spit a fireball at his palm. “Look, it’s just an illusion. I have a thing called magic; you know. You might be familiar with the concept.”

“You’re impossible!” Hermione huffed. Honestly, he was being such a menace. They had been researching after class this past week, and he hadn’t been as difficult as he was being now. He had been downright _helpful_. “Look, Malfoy. I understand that you don’t care about me. You probably want me dead as much as the people who threatened me. But you don’t –”

“There you are again, Granger.” He said snidely. “Lumping me together with murderers.”

“What am I supposed to think when all you’ve done today is distract me?”

“We’ve been holed up in this table, in this library, for the past week! Forgive me for wanting to take a fucking _break_.”

“Can’t you _see,_ Malfoy? I _can’t_. It’s my _life_ that is at stake here. I’m not going to be brought down by some rogue death eaters when I bloody made sure that their leader wouldn’t live to terrorize me again!”

“I _know_ that, but you’re faulting me for a _human_ reaction!”

“Because _that_ human reaction is keeping me away from answers that might just help me _not_ get killed.”

“Stop talking as if I want you dead!”

“Aren’t you?” She huffed angrily, meeting his intensely angry glare.

“You know what? I’ve been so fucking helpful. I’ve been _good_ , and I’ve been on my best behavior, Granger. I even went out of my way and read _Metallurgy: 101 Magical Metals_ , bloody boring book that, for _you_. And the moment _I_ get _bored_ , the moment I want a _break_ , you immediately erase my effort and shove me back into the box of murderers!”

“Well then leave!”

He was huffing now, trying to catch his breath. His paper dragons were lying on the table, unmoving. He gave her another withering glare, before squaring his shoulders and gathering his things.

“Fine.”

* * *

**_Draco_ **

He was still raging. Bloody Granger and her high horse. Annoying.

He slammed his book bag down onto his desk, slamming his bedroom door and throwing his robes off, chucking them against the armchair on the corner. He spotted a sealed letter resting on his bed, and he grumpily picked it up before lying back with a thud.

Focusing his frustration onto the innocent stationary, he proceeded to rip the paper apart, feeling a tiny bit of satisfaction from the noise it was making. A folded piece of paper fell out, fluttering down to the floor. With a groan, he sat back up, before reaching down to pick it up.

He froze.

There, on the floor, was a picture of a mottled green arm. Two words were written, _carved_ , onto the arm. _Stay away._

The rage he felt towards Granger paled besides the wave of boiling hot anger that threatened to consume him. He crumpled the piece of paper, wanting to burn the ridiculous threat, but he kept enough of his sanity to know that it was evidence. He stood up shakily, using all of his willpower to maintain control.

He wanted to go back to the library – to find her. To reassure himself that it wasn’t _her_ arm on the bloody picture. But he had his pride to think about. He _wasn’t_ about to come back like some pathetic little puppy. Not being able to do so though, was fueling his already scalding rage. He wanted to destroy things.

He stepped out of his room, ready to fling something breakable against the walls, but the Headmistress’s warnings about having to replace their furniture _again_ , after their last row stopped him. In anger, he kicked at the rug lying by his feet, before heading out of their dorms.

* * *

**_Hermione_ **

She was walking along the 7th floor corridor, exhausted. It was already nearing 1 am, and her body was aching from all of the work that she had done from her marathon research session at the library. Her digging had yielded very little, since most of the Dark families who owned cursed knives were extremely secretive. There was barely anything in the texts to give her a solid enough lead. Maybe she needed to go to Bulgaria sooner than she expected.

Suddenly, she heard a crash from inside on of the classrooms. Whipping out her wand, she changed her stance into a defensive one as she stalked quietly towards the source of the noise.

Another crash echoed, making her walk faster. It was probably just Peeves, but the war had made her into the poster girl for constant vigilance. She squared her shoulders as she neared the classroom.

She let loose a number of scoping spells, ensuring that she wasn’t about to walk into a trap. When all the sparks came out a negative red, she tentatively placed a hand on the knob. She frowned; she really didn’t have the energy for this right now. She was dead on her feet, and all she wanted was a nice warm bath before sleeping off all of her hours of low-yield research.

Another crash, and she pushed all thoughts of walking away out of her head, counting to three before she turned the knob.

The shock of moonlight blonde hair surprised her more than any couple ever could.

“Malfoy?” she called out to the semi-darkness, waiting for her eyes to adjust. She could’ve cast a _Lumos_ , but she wanted to be ready in case it was an attacker. War habits die hard. “Is that you?”

“Fuck,” He growled. Definitely Malfoy. She’d know that snarky tone anywhere. “What are you doing here, Granger?”

“I was about to head back to our dorm.” She replied, her eyes had somewhat adjusted, and she could see him more clearly now, standing amidst the destruction.

“You’ve been in the library this whole time? It’s after midnight!” he said, his voice was strained, but there was a teasing lilt to it.

She shrugged, before saying, “What are you doing here, Malfoy.” She said, ignoring his response as she flicked her wand towards the curtains, opening them and letting some moonlight in.

“I was feeling a little peachy.” He said noncommittally, walking away from the center of the room and towards the window.

She stepped in, careful to avoid the mounds of broken furniture. “This level of destruction, just because you were feeling _off_?” she asked incredulously, kicking at a pile of broken desks.

He shrugged again, before sliding slowly onto the floor.

“I thought Malfoys never sat on the floor?” She asked, smirking a bit. The atmosphere felt tense, and she wanted to introduce a little levity on the situation.

“I’ve done a lot of things that Malfoys supposedly don’t do.” Was his answer, his tone still noncommittal.

She reached a window beside his. She didn’t answer, because honestly, she didn’t know what else to say. She couldn’t bring herself to leave either. She should have, because as Head Boy, Malfoy enjoyed much of the privilege she did, and he wasn’t breaking any rules, just school property. But something about staying _here_ , in this abandoned classroom, with wild magic permeating the air, and seeing how this whole thing unfolded seemed important.

They fell into silence. It could’ve been hours that had passed as she continued to stare out into the grounds. Finally, with a strained groan, he said. “What are you still doing here, Granger. Can’t you leave me and my misery alone?”

“What makes you think that I’m here for your company?” She said, tired, but challenging.

“If you think that my behavior is a puzzle that you need to crack, then you’re wrong.” He said snidely, a little venom lacing his bored tone. “I’m not one of your charity cases. You can’t _fix_ whatever’s wrong with me.”

“Of course, you’d think that me offering my friendship is just a case of pity.” She snorted. “Has it ever occurred to you Malfoy, that I’m just trying to be _nice_?”

“Ever the saint, aren’t you?” He said sarcastically, but the venom was gone.

“Hardly.” She replied sardonically. “Honestly, I already told you. This is more for me. I don’t care about what you think my offer of peace does to you. Being _nice_ to you, forgiving you, despite the fact that you haven’t apologized for anything, is something I do for selfish reasons: I just don’t have the energy to keep hating you.”

“Hasn’t stopped you from screaming at me like a hell cat, though.”

“You’re annoying. I can only hold onto my temper so much.” She said with a smirk.

“You’re all too easy to annoy.” He replied, giving her a grin.

She returned it, before remembering the events earlier. Slowly, she sat down on the ground too, tucking her legs closer, and leaning her head back against the wall. “Malfoy.”

“What.”

“I’m sorry.”

He grumbled something, but it was too faint to hear, so she ignored it, and then continued. “I’m – I find you very difficult to trust.”

“Obviously.”

She nodded, “It’s mostly because of our shared history. And I – I _know_ that that was _leagues_ away from the horrors that Voldemort did and made other people do during the war.”

“Do you really, Granger?” He asked, “You fall back to accusing me of being on par with a serial killer every time I do something that vaguely annoys you.”

“I know.” She said, blushing in shame. Then, she softly added, “I know it’s wrong, and I know you’re not _completely_ evil. But Malfoy, you were the first person who ever called me _mudblood._ You were the reason why I never truly felt welcome in a world that I’m supposed to belong in. I didn’t fit in, before Hogwarts. At school, with my intellect, at home, with my magic. Half of my life, I’ve spent out of step. And then my Hogwarts letter came and suddenly, I had a place where I could be _me._ I came into Hogwarts expecting a safe space. Somewhere to belong. You killed that dream. Some days, it feels like you have hurt me more than a Cruciatus ever could.”

She felt completely vulnerable, baring her soul to the last person she ever expected to see it. He was silent, and she was afraid to look at him. Shakily, she continued, “But, I can see that you’ve changed. You’re not – you’re not that boy anymore. The one who wished that I would be the Basilisk’s next victim.”

“How did you –”

“I know, Malfoy.” She cut him off. “I know it, but I’m not used to it. Not used to this. You, being helpful, or being decent. It surprises me, and you’re right. I wait for you to fuck it up. I keep waiting for you to drop the act. I’m the kind of person who doesn’t make the same mistakes _twice_ , if I can help it. That’s why I’m weary. That’s why I can’t trust you… not yet, anyway. You have to understand that I don’t act like that because I _think_ that you’re still a monster, it’s a defensive strategy that I can’t help. It would take some getting used to. It would take time. Lots of it, probably.”

He was silent, and she rested her chin on her knees, staring at a pale sliver of moonbeam. Finally, after about five minutes, he croaked, “I… I understand.”

She nodded, still refusing to look at him, and they went back to being quiet again.

It felt like hours, before she broke the silence. “Do you ever wonder, what it would have been like, if we didn’t spend our youth with so much malevolent evil lurking behind every corner?”

“I don’t like to think about things that I can’t have.”

“Just answer the question, Malfoy.” She said, rolling her eyes. Her speech had lifted a huge weight on her chest, making her feel lighter than she had in weeks. Because of that, she felt like she needed to inject at least some levity to the situation.

“Of course, I wonder.” He replied. His tone was surprisingly soft. She fixed him a curious stare, but he refused to meet her gaze. “But wondering wouldn’t change the atrocities that we’ve done during the war.”

“You’re right,” she sighed. “It wouldn’t. But it still makes me curious.”

“You and I both know that you’d still be a swotty know-it-all, Granger.” He teased, their eyes met, and he flashed her a lopsided grin.

“And you’d still be an arrogant, pointy little prick.” She retorted.

He laughed, and they lapsed into comfortable silence. Comfortable—that was a word she’d never thought she’d use when describing any situation with Malfoy, but here she was. Here they were.

“I’ve always wondered, what would I have turned out to be like if prejudice wasn’t drilled into my skull from the moment I could walk.” He said quietly, carefully, as if his words could break something. And it must have, because those words reflected the shattering of a thousand years of pureblood bigotry.

She was awestruck, but he didn’t look at her as he continued to speak. “It felt as if majority of my life decisions, all the stupid shit that has got me stuck in foul ditches during the war, were fueled by the bigotry. I would have been a different person. Lived a different life. Could have been a Ravenclaw. I might have been friends with Potter or Weasley.”

 _Was this a non-apology?_ She thought.

With that, she threw her eyebrows up in surprise. He glanced at her, and laughed. “Okay, maybe not Weasley. I’d still have hated their guts.”

“Do you think we could’ve been friends?” she asked, trying to communicate her non-acceptance of his non-apology.

It might have worked, because he flashed her a smile, before his face morphed into a smirk. “I think so. You’d have come to me, seeking my company, because everyone else in our year would be too slow to hold actual stimulating conversation.”

“Yeah, it would have been nice to talk to someone who wasn’t trying to make me do their homework for them.” she said, feeling immediately guilty after saying those words. She loved her friends, she truly did, but it was annoying when they slacked off because they knew she’d be compelled to help them.

“I think though,” he teased, “That I prefer _our disagreements_ more.”

“Yeah, nothing like a good, hearty screaming match and almost hexing each other to the point of maiming to invigorate you.” She replied sarcastically.

“It’s my favorite thing to have for breakfast.” He deadpanned, and she couldn’t help the burst of laughter that flowed out of her with his comment.

“Even if we’d have been friends, our inherent natures wouldn’t have let us coexist without verbal sparring.” She thought out loud, throwing him a mischievous glance.

“Yeah, you’d probably have taken offense if I tried to get you to reduce your swottiness,” he snorted. “In the name of friendship, of course.”

“And you’d have screamed at me for _good-naturedly_ pointing out that your head is covered by 25% hair and 75% gel.” She said with equal amusement.

She sighed, stretching out a bit before standing back up. With the atmosphere considerably lighter than it was since she’d entered the room, she didn’t feel as much need to stay. She was getting tired, and she felt that the moment – or whatever it was—was past.

“I for one, am absolutely knackered.” She said with a yawn, turning back to him, she gave him a smirk. “Don’t stay too late, Malfoy, Peeves would pelt you with dung bombs if you’re still roaming around by 3 am. I’d rather not have our dorms stink in the morning.”

He gave another snort. It was apparently a night full of snorts, she thought with amusement. She was just about to turn around to leave, when she felt his hand tug hers.

His touch, probably their first-ever non-hostile physical interaction, stopped her in her tracks. She felt an almost _delicious_ surge of electricity course from their attached limbs. Before she could comment on the rush she felt, he spoke up.

“Thank you, Granger.” He said quietly, letting go of her hand.

“For what?” she replied, not really sure how to respond. She felt the tension rise again in the air, but it was a different kind from the one before. She didn’t quite know what to name it.

“I don’t know.” He said truthfully, but his stare held more things than words could ever describe. “For not pitying me? For humoring me? For sitting down when you don’t have to? I don’t know.”

“Never thought I’d see the day that you’d thank me for sitting down on the floor.” She said, deciding to go for some levity.

“I’m full of surprises.” He said with a grin, and just like that, the tension dispelled, and the night was peaceful again.

“Sure, you are.” She said with a roll of her eyes. Just as she touched the door, she paused. “You know, Malfoy, you were right. Wondering wouldn’t change anything, but it’s amusing to realize that some things might stay the same, you know? And we all need a healthy dose of amusement.”

She heard him let out a puff of air from behind her. Not letting it bother her, she continued, “It’s funny to think that in any life, at any point in time, we would still have been at each other’s throats.”

Hurriedly, she exited the room before he could start to insist on following her again.

If she had stopped for a second to look back, she would have seen the utter shock had descended over Draco Malfoy’s face.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for all the new kudos, and of course to the people who are still supporting this story by reviewing, AUConn, DontStopHerNow, Adriana, smileylovesreading, DramionEverlarkPeetatoRichonne! Without you, I'd be too shy to post updates!!! Thank you.


	6. Nightmare

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: Universe not mine, but JKR's  
> AN: Hi guys, the original chapter was supposed to be much longer than this one, but I decided against it, and cut it early so I could post it early too! I hope you enjoy!!!

**_Hermione_ **

The first dream, she had chalked it up to guilt.

_She was dreaming about Malfoy’s eyes. Mercury and silver and moonlight. She continued to stare at them, marveling at the details that her brain had remembered. The throughs and shallows and deep and light pools. His eyes were vast, and she felt like she could stare at them forever and she’d still find new features to take in._

_Suddenly, there was light. Bright and blinding and_ painful _. She tried to close_ her _eyes away from the glare, but it was no use. And just as suddenly, the light receded, and she was left to take in her surroundings._

_She was weeping, Hermione felt the despair wash over her, almost knocking her to her knees – wait, she was on her knees. She could feel the rough pavement beneath her, while soft hands tried to hold her up. She tried to look around, but she couldn’t. She could touch, hear, even smell the bodies crowding around her, but she couldn’t move. She had absolutely no control._

_It was terrifying._

_She tried to stay calm, to assess the things that she knew. The moment she had thought of wanting information, a slew of images assaulted her mind, like the memories were being forced into her. She was watching an execution. Of a man named Hagbard._

_Another set of memories rushed into her. Midnight kisses, hands all over, fingertips tracing routes all over bodies._

_Just then, the crowd infront of her parted, revealing a man. He was tall, big, and burly. Standing calm on a rickety platform made of wood. Blonde hair matted with grime and blood. His eyes were closed, and his hands were bound. All over his body, bright purple and deep black bruises bloomed._

_Hermione felt her body stand and run up towards him, making it to the front of the crowd before rough hands stopped her progress. She let out a wail, screaming at the hands, screaming for him._

_She was fighting through the overwhelming despair, realizing that the aquiline nose, the strong jaw, and his brows were familiar. As if he had heard her scream amidst the thousands of jeers and shouts, the man, Hagbard, opened his eyes._

_Malfoy._

_The realization struck her cold. She watched as Malfoy’s eyes stared at her, lifeless eyes igniting with a fire that was intense enough to burn. He surged forward, just as she did, but the noose around his neck impeded his movement, just as the guards keeping her in place stopped hers._

_“Signy!” He screamed, just as she wailed his name. He was struggling now, all of his calm demeanor gone. The executioner pulled at his hair, spitting angry words that she couldn’t hear through the din of the roaring crowd._

_Hermione felt her body struggle some more, and then she felt a surge of magic rush out from her, electrocuting the hands that were holding her back. She ran._

_The executioner and his guards dropped their hands. She was almost about the reach the platform when the man in black pushed Hagbard back._

_She watched as he fell, body coming to a jarring stop as the noose tightened around his neck._

She woke with a start, sweat covering her body. Clutching her wand, she leapt up, the despair that she felt from her dream following her into reality. Before she could do anything stupid, like check Malfoy, she forced herself to calm down. It was a _dream,_ she reminded herself, but the pounding she heard from her heart’s erratic beating couldn’t be silenced.

It was a _dream_.

Gradually, she calmed down, enough to do diagnostic spells on her person. With Harry’s history of dreams, she knew that magical ones weren’t something that she could ignore. When the red negative light enveloped her, assuring her that there was no dark magic working on her person, she allowed herself to relax more.

It was a dream.

Probably just brought about by her encounter with Malfoy earlier that night.

Slowly, she made her way to her window, pushing back her thick curtains. The soft light of dawn filtered in, and she opened the glass panes, letting in the early December chill. The cold helped her further calm down.

She sat down on her armchair, staring out of the window, watching the lavender sky give way to pastel pink.

* * *

“Granger.” Malfoy’s voice pulled her out of her reverie. “What’s up with you.”

“Nothing,” She lied smoothly, arranging her quills back into their place. Three quills, three parchments, three taps onto her desk.

She was still bothered by the dream that she had. She hadn’t been able to go back to sleep after it, so she had decided to sneak out to the library to do some research. Malfoy had found her just as she was about to go down to breakfast, visibly angry at her abandonment of him. She had braced herself for another lecture, but something had stopped him in his tracks, and instead of annoying her with a bloody tirade on her safety, he had narrowed her eyes and fell into step with her, walking towards the Great Hall.

He had remained silent, and she was grateful for it. She couldn’t handle verbal sparring now, what with her brain still feeling like mush.

They had spent the most part of the day in just that, silence. Thick, slimy, silence that she knew he was desperate to breach. He had done a good job of holding back the insults for the most part, but apparently, not for long.

He was sitting beside her, as per their Advanced Charms requirement, because _of course_ you had to sit with your partner. Stupid, utterly unfounded rule. Now more than ever, she _needed_ space. He gave her a curious look, before saying, “Flitwick just asked a question. You haven’t raised your hand _at all_ today. The last time that happened, Potter was in the Hospital Wing after the Triwizard tournament. What’s wrong with you?”

“I don’t see why you care, Malfoy.” She hissed, entirely putting too much venom in her words. She felt a tinge of guilt at her harshness, but she honestly couldn’t be bothered right now, not when she could still see the texture of the noose at the forefront of her mind.

“I _don’t_ , Granger.” He hissed back, “But _I’m_ sworn to bloody protect your insipid arse. Whatever you know, whatever’s bothering you, you _have_ to tell me. I have to know as much as you do if I want to have a prayer of protecting you.”

“Leave it, Malfoy.” She said dismissively, before turning her nearest quill around three times.

“I can’t believe I have to _remind_ you, you swot.” He said, and he saw his hands clench enough to break his quill. “My mother’s _safety_ is on the line here.”

Guilt weighed her down, and she raised her head up to meet his glare. “It’s nothing, I swear. Nightmares, that’s all.”

He narrowed his eyes at her, obviously not satisfied, and she scrambled her brain for ideas to get him to leave it alone.

“Malfoy, I want to duel.” She whispered.

The thought had come up when she first heard about the threat, and she had originally planned to ask the rest of the DA to train with her, but she didn’t know how to broach the topic with them without a concrete explanation for the _need_ for training. And Malfoy was right, he _was_ invested in this, and extremely so because his mother’s safety was also on the line.

“You want to what?”

“Duel.” She sighed. “Look, before you ask, this isn’t a ploy to embarrass you.”

“Is this you’re Gryffindor way of getting rid of me?”

“Hardly.” She snorted, “It’s not exactly subtle.”

“Gryffindors aren’t known for their subtlety.”

“Lucky for me, I’m smart enough to understand that _I’d_ be the prime suspect if your body is found floating near the Giant Squid. It would look horrible on my resume.”

“What? ‘War Heroine’ in big golden cursive not enough to distract from suspected murderer?”

“Maybe if I write it in tiny print.” She retorted, giving him a tentative grin. She honestly didn’t know what to do with Malfoy. How to act around him. But the mystery of the blonde wasn’t something that she should be really putting her energy into right now.

She saw the corners of his mouth twist up, before his face went back into its stoic mask. It looks like she was forgiven, for now. She didn’t really mean to undermine him and his need to keep his mother safe, but she couldn’t bring up the topic again in case he decided to dig more than he had. She would have to stick with her non-apology.

Focusing back to the matter at hand, she said, “Back to the dueling thing. Are you up for it?”

“The Room of Requirement?”

“I’m not sure if it’s still there.” She said with relief at his easy agreement. Shaking her head, she added “Fires would probably be contained in a present room, but I fiendfyre destroys magic too. I checked when we first came back. The door doesn’t appear anymore.”

He nodded, looking away for a second, pain flashing across his face for a millisecond before he donned his stoic mask again. “Our common room, then.”

“Yeah, I was thinking that it would be big enough, too.”

“I’ll ask the elves to prepare the space.”

“Malfoy, you can’t ask the elves to do something we could easily accomplish with magic!”

“Come off it, Granger. They love me, it wouldn’t be a problem.”

“No!”

“Fine.” He drawled, looking away. “But _you’re_ the one who has to do it.”

Rolling her eyes, she grumbled, “Fine.”

* * *

She was sweating heavily.

Malfoy was lobbing spells at her, wordlessly, and she barely managed to avoid the shots of light. She would have been impressed at his speed and efficiency if she wasn’t trying desperately to stand her ground.

She shot him a jelly-leg jinx, which he didn’t even bother to shield, opting to side-step the burst of orange light she had sent his way. She wordlessly cast a protrego as he shot a purple hex at her, but the light burst past her shield, forcing her to duck and roll.

“You suck, Granger.” He drawled from across the room, pointing his wand at her.

“I’ve held my own for thirty minutes straight!” She called back indignantly, breathless.

“Yes, and bad guys would probably stop at the thirty-minute mark too, give you a breather break.”

She groaned, standing back up right into her defensive stance. “Again.”

“Fix your stance first.” He said. “Right foot out, if you don’t want to be unbalanced by the first spell thrown at you.”

She gave him a glare, before sliding her foot out further. She tried to clamp down her irritation. She had asked for this session, but she didn’t expect him to be _loads_ better at this than _she_ was.

Suddenly, he whipped his wand into a tight spiral, sending out a sickly green burst of light towards her. She didn’t have time to cast a shield charm, so she was forced to bend back, narrowly avoiding whatever hex that was from missing her.

“Hey!” She shouted, “I wasn’t ready!”

“Death eaters won’t wait for you to be _ready_.” He said brusquely, stepping forward and casting another hex, which she promptly dodged. Her irritation flared up again, and she launched herself forward, casting her own mix of jinxes and hexes.

She watched in satisfaction as he dodged them, stoic mask crumbling, replaced by intense concentration. She continued moving forward, gaining more ground. She shot an _expelliarmus_ at him, hitting him on his right pinky, making his wand jump up from his hand.

A surge of triumph rushed over her, but it was short-lived. Impossibly fast, _curse seeker reflexes_ , he caught his wand with his other arm, casting a jinx her way.

She dodged, falling back a step as she shouted, “You’re ambidextrous?”

“Surprise.” He grinned, looking much like the Cheshire cat. He was enjoying this too much.

They were neck to neck, both casting as much as dodging. She hoped that the bubble they had cast over their training space held. Otherwise, they would be lectured again by Mcgonagall about damaging furniture.

He took advantage of her distraction, hitting her with an _expelliarmus_. Her wand flew from her hand, and she jumped forward to catch it, but he was faster, plucking the wood from the air. Angrily, she glared at him, launching herself at his irritating smirk.

She pulled back her arm, aiming for his nose, but he caught the punch. She tried for a kick, but he stepped on her foot, blocking her attack.

“Dirty tactics, Granger?”

“You told me they’d fight dirty.” She huffed, wrenching her hand, feigning a jab to his left side while simultaneously pulling up her right to aim at his nose again. He didn’t fall for it. For the second time in five a minute, he held her hand again. This time, he didn’t wait for her to try to kick. She shoved his leg between hers, hooking his ankle behind her foot and pulling, effectively unbalancing her.

Before she could fall flat on the floor, his other hand gripped her waist, pulling her closer towards him.

She was trapped. The hand at her waist was also pinning her arm. She couldn’t get enough footing to effectively put force on any kick or punch. He had her trapped. Bloody irritating.

He stared at her for a second, before he pushed her back. She almost fell, but her balance came back to her at the last moment. He was doubled over, breathing as heavily as she was.

“You suck at hand-to-hand too.” He chuckled. “It’s a wonder that you survived the war.”

“Hey!” she said indignantly, still trying to catch her breath.

“What? No witty comeback?” He teased, straightening. He threw her her wand, before waving his own and conjuring two metal cylinders. He offered one to her, before guzzling his bottle. She watched as his throat moved, sweat trickling down his flushed skin.

She eyed the bottle, and he gave a snort. “It’s not poisoned, Granger. Why would I go through all this trouble if I was just going to poison you anyway?”

She glared at him, and muttered a scanning charm, just to make a point. It came up green. Safe. She drank deeply, and he didn’t wait for her to finish before speaking again in his extremely annoying drawl. She wanted more than anything, to wring his stupid neck.

“Some points to improve upon.” He started, “You cast slow. You focus more on accuracy than speed, which is going to get you killed.”

“Slow?” She questioned. “You’re practically panting from the effort of avoiding my hexes, and I’m _slow?_ ”

“You could be faster.” He shrugged, “Your technique could work in skirmishes, when there’s enough chaos to distract your opponent, but on a one-on-one duel, you’re going to get killed.”

“Fine.”

“I’m not done yet.” He said, giving her a grin. Stupid prat, he probably just _enjoyed_ watching her not do well. “You keep aiming for the _extremities_ , which are ten times harder to hit than the head or the torso.”

“Of course, I’m not bloody aiming for your head! You want me to jelly-jink your _brain?_ ”

He snorted, “As if you could hit me. Spell casting at the speed needed for dueling involves a lot of muscle memory. If you keep honing your aim towards the extremities, you won’t be able to automatically try to hit the parts that matter in a real battle. Stop holding back and _aim at me_ , next time.”

She gave him a nod, gritting her teeth. Her body was starting to ache, and she wanted more than anything to retire to the bath and read a book and forget all about this stupid idea of hers.

“Last thing. If you insist on using hand-to-hand combat, make sure that you’re _trained_ for it.” He said, “I know that you can apparate wandless. Use that when you’re backed into a corner. Don’t try to be a lion and stay just for stupid things like your honor. _Especially_ when you’re so bad at hand-to-hand.”

She wanted to call him names. Names that would make her grandmother wash her mouth with soap, but she held back. This was her idea. This was _her_ idea.

Stupid, _competent_ , ferret.

“Well? No defending yourself?” He asked, raising a brow.

“I know how to handle criticism.” She sniffed.

“A first for a Gryffindor, then.” He said, purposely baiting her, but she was exhausted, and she just ignored him.

“Whatever, Malfoy.” She sighed. Turning back towards her dorm and en suite, already thinking of the warm, warm bath that she would be soaking herself in, she added, “Thanks for the sparring.”

“We’re going again tomorrow. Same time.”

“What?” she said, rounding, back. “Tomorrow?”

“Of course, Granger, you’re hardly ready as it is.”

“No, what I meant was that I wanted to research tomorrow. I can’t neglect that, and I can hardly get my brain to cooperate when I’m this exhausted.”

He narrowed his eyes at her, assessing her. He was deep in thought, and then he said, “Alright. We’ll train four nights a week until I’m satisfied. Then we can revert to three nights, to keep ourselves in shape.”

“I won’t be able to do any homework!”

“You won’t be able to _do_ anything at all if you’re dead.”

That shut her up. Reluctantly, she nodded, and she saw him preen subtly from winning their argument.

She turned towards her door again, cursing herself for the nth time about her stupid decisions.

* * *

The second time she dreamed about Malfoy, it wasn’t even about him. It was about a girl with his eyes.

_Silver, mercury, tungsten, titanium, platinum. All different shades of gray, all hard metal. Cold and unforgiving. She stared at them, stared at his eyes. Until the light became too much and it made her want to look away._

_Distress. The feeling came before her eyes could take in the scene happening in front of her_

_She was clutching a girl with dark, midnight skin, her face was pinched in obvious pain. An arrow was sticking out of her throat, blood was gushing out of her open mouth, dark lips gasping for air._

_“Aderiyike,” A gruff voice ground out._ Her _voice. Again, Hermione tried to move, but she couldn’t, she was forced to sit back and watch. She realized with a jolt that this wasn’t a dream. Or at least it could be something else. A memory? Was she living someone’s memory?_

 _Shouts came from a distance. Slave traders. Shouting at her,_ him _, she realized. They were screaming words in a language she couldn’t understand. A name came to the front of her mind. Mobo. That was her name, his name._

_They were running. Running away from a camp of sorts. They had escaped._

_Mobo clutched Aderiyike, trying in vain to stop the bleeding. But he knew, just as Hermione did, that the wound was fatal. Hermione felt the fight leave from Mobo’s body, and an overwhelming grief consumed her._

_“Aderiyeke,” He wailed. And he tensed as the girl’s eyes fluttered._

_She opened them, and Hermione was floored. The girl’s eyes, standing in stark contrast to her skin, were the palest shade of gray. Malfoy’s eyes._

_“Mo—” she said, struggling._

_“Shhh, don’t talk, love.” Mobo said tenderly. Hermione noted with surprise that he wasn’t speaking English, but it was a language that she somehow understood. “I’m here. I’m with you.”_

_Fear filled the girl’s eyes, Malfoy’s eyes, and Hermione felt Mobo’s rage swell to a tidal wave along with his grief. He caressed her face, and Hermione felt a rush of adoration surge through her, but it was tainted with anger, with grief._

_“Ge—” she tried again. “Way. Get. Away.”_

_“No, I’m not leaving you.”_

_“Die – you – can’t – die.”_

_“I won’t leave you, Aderiyeke.” Mobo said sternly, before tenderly resting his forehead on the girl’s. “I can’t.”_

_Aderiyeke started to cry, eyes watering, eyes imploring him to leave._

_Hermione felt her heart break, physically. Her chest – Mobo’s chest – felt as if it was being crushed. At the back of her mind, she noted the feeling with surprise. She’s had her fair share of heartbreak, during the war, but she had never felt it_ physically _. She had used to scoff at books who described it with flourish. She had thought that it was an exaggeration, but the pain she felt was tangible. She wanted to desperately try to rip out her heart, just to make the pain stop._

_Mobo and Aderiyeke continued to stare at each other, and Hermione felt guilty for intruding upon such a private scene. She tried to force herself to wake up, but again, just like the dream before, she couldn’t._

_The voices were coming nearer, their shouting getting louder. Aderiyeke clutched at Mobo, trying to push her away. Then suddenly, the pressure of her hands faded._

_The fear left her eyes, replaced by longing. Then the life in them too, faded._

_The rage and despair Hermione felt from Mobo increased again. It wasn’t a wave this time. It was an ocean of grief, and she felt herself drown in it._

_They had killed_ hundreds _of Mobo’s brothers. Women and children too. Then they had taken her away from him. Gently, he kissed her eyelids closed, laying her down on the ground._

_Shakily, Mobi looked up at the men carrying the weapons, all of them rushing towards them._

_Hermione felt Mobi’s anger tap into his magic, and with a final glance at the now dead Aderiyeke, Hermione felt it all surge away from Mobo’s body._

_She started to wake up just as she started to hear the ground crack._

Hermione breathed deeply, almost drowning as she thrashed in her tub. With pruned fingers, she gripped the edges, regaining her balance.

She forced her mind to work despite all of the tumultuous feelings that were fighting for her attention.

The dream was too detailed to be just _any_ dream. It was different. It felt more _real_. Like a _memory._

Standing up, she reached for her robe. She would have to do research.

* * *

They were sitting on a warm sunny spot, watching Seamus bait the giant squid. Neville was currently showing a bright red Acromantula Orchid to Hannah, who looked like she was hanging on his every word. Luna and Ginny had their heads bent together over an issue of the Quibbler, while Luna went on about a trip to the Amazon with her father. Theo sat beside them, playing with Luna’s hair, not really a surprising addition to their group since he and their friend was pretty much inseparable ever since the war.

It had been seven days since the dreams started. And she was starting to think that she was close to the answer.

Hermione closed her eyes, reviewing the facts in her head again. There was no current literature or memoirs about these kinds of dreams, but it might have been _memories._ She had initially considered a form of legilimancy that Harry had experienced during their fifth year. As it was possible that the people behind the threat was trying to play her, or bait her, just like Voldemort had baited Harry.

However, she had scrapped the idea. The dreams were set during periods that spanned almost thousands of years back. Whoever sent them had to be immortal, and that was extremely unlikely, given that the _people_ in her dreams were from a variety of different civilizations.

This led her to the idea of past lives. She had checked out all of the reincarnation books in the library, and one obscure text from the Byzantine era had hinted about souls and the eyes, seeing that the one constant thing about the people she dreamt about was that they all had Malfoy’s eyes. However, it was a concept that was popular in literature. It had taken her three hours sorting through poems during the Renaissance to realize that most of the works on the topic was mostly insipid romantic _fiction_.

It would take her forever to sort through the drivel and find works that were helpful.

“Hermione,” A dreamy voice said, pulling her out of her trance. “Are the Gnobbles bothering you?”

“The what, Luna?” She asked, slightly irritated to have her train of thought interrupted.

“The Gnobbles.” The blonde explained. Ginny grinned at her, rolling her eyes good-naturedly. “They’re swarming you.”

“You mean the moths?” Theo asked, giving Luna a questioning look.

“They’re not moths, silly.” Luna said breathily, “They just act like them. They’re swarming you, Hermione. You must have lots of memories in your brain.”

“Uhm,” she said apprehensively, trying to _not_ sound condescending. “Am I not supposed to?”

“Well, you are, but they’re not the right kind.”

“The right kind?”

“The ones that are truly yours.”

Hermione recoiled with surprise. This confirmed it. Although some might argue that Luna sounded crazy on her best days, Hermione, however, knew better. Whatever she was trying to tell her in her roundabout way, was spot on with whatever it was that was happening to her.

“Do you have reference books on that, Luna?”

“Hermione?” Ginny said in surprise, raising both brows. It wasn’t exactly a secret that she had disapproved before about Luna’s ramblings, claiming that they should be sticking to facts.

Quickly, she backtracked. “I’m… bored.” She explained, trying to inject at least _some_ conviction in her voice. “I was thinking about doing some light reading.”

“You have eleven NEWT classes and you’re _bored?_ ” Hannah asked, pulling away from Neville.

Hermione grinned sheepishly, trying to act calm. “I’m only taking ten. I’ve dropped out of divination third year, remember?”

“Who wouldn’t?” Ginny said, but she didn’t look convinced at all. Hermione knew that she would keep her tongue leashed for now, but Hermione had some explaining to do. The redhead wouldn’t leave her alone otherwise. She let out a laugh that was entirely too high-pitched, and her friend scrunched up her brows together.

Before Ginny could ask anything, Luna piped up. “I do! I think daddy and I wrote about it in an issue we released three years ago, I’ll look for it for you!”

“Thank you,” Hermione said warmly.

“It’s not a problem, I’m glad to help.” Luna beamed, “You should probably go to the Hospital wing. Daddy donated a whole batch of potions that repels them.”

“You said the same thing to Draco.” Theo said.

“Malfoy?” Hermione said, raising a brow. Of course. His eyes in each of her dreams wasn’t a coincidence. Leave it up to him to be involved in this whole confusing mess.

“I remember now. At the train. You said that they were swarming him too.” Theo said, not really answering Hermione, but directing his statement to Luna instead.

Before the blonde could say anything else, Hermione was up, clutching her book bag behind her. She mumbled weak excuses, before dashing off to find the ferret. If he had _cursed_ her, or caused these dreams, there was going to be hell to pay.

* * *

**_Draco_ **

_Her eyes, and then darkness._

_A thousand different scents assaulted him. They were wolves in this dream. Living together in the tundras of Siberia. The pitter patter of paws running crept up behind him, and he let out a howl._

_An excited chorus of howls sounded behind him, and he felt a presence playfully nip his flank._

_His host turned, and there she was, brown eyes shining, barking at him playfully. Their children swarmed around them, playfully rough housing. She snuggled close, and he welcomed her warmth._

“Malfoy.”

He woke with a start. Groggily, sitting up from the chair by the fire. He didn’t even know that he had fallen asleep.

“What are you screeching about, Granger?” He asked grumpily.

“What did you do?” She said, looking like she was about to throw things at him.

“Bloody hell,” He said, jumping up to a crouch as she whipped her wand up to his face. “What is _wrong_ with you, Granger?”

“Did you curse me?” She screamed at him; the tip of her wand dangerously close to his carotid.

He raised his hand slowly, noting her obvious panic. Her pupils were narrowed to tiny pinpricks, and her chest was heaving. “Look, Granger, I can’t think of anything I’ve done that would make you go barmy.”

“Think. Hard.” She threatened. It would have been funny, seeing her all fired-up like the hell-cat that she was. But he knew her, and he knew how powerful she was. He had no interest in being maimed before dinner.

“Merlin, you stubborn witch!” He said exasperated, “I haven’t done anything. If you lower your wand, you can tell me what it is that’s got your knickers in a twist.”

She frowned at him. He probably shouldn’t aggravate her further, but he couldn’t help it. He was usually much more self-preserving than this, but all of thoughts of getting away from situations unscathed always left his head when he was interacting with Granger.

She didn’t move. Her eyes were still narrowed, glaring at him. After a moment, he decided that he had to play his cards better. “Granger. Trust me on this one. You told me you’d try.”

That got to her, and apprehension clouded her features. Slowly, she lowered her wand away from his neck. His hand flew up to his throat, massaging it. She then proceeded to sit down, waiting for her to do so.

“Talk.” She bit out.

“I don’t know what to talk about!” He sighed sitting down.

She remained silent, still looking suspicious. She shifted, “Did you curse me?”

“Of course, I did.” He snorted, “Or at least I tried to. Multiple times. But I understand that you’ve been able to counteract all of the hexes I threw at you during our past training sessions.”

“Not that,” she said impatiently, “Before. Before the training. Did you curse me?”

“During the war? No. I haven’t raised my wand at you since 5th year.” He said, curious now. What was she talking about?

She remained silent. Still. Her eyes deep in thought. He could practically see the cogs in her brain churning. “What are you saying, Granger?”

“I…” She started, breaking her gaze to look down at her hands. “I’ve been having nightmares.”

“Nightmares?” He pressed, raising his brows. Was it possible? Did she dream about him like he did about her? He stilled his tongue. He couldn’t reveal all of his cards now. He would have to wait until he was sure that she did.

“Nightmares… about you.”

“Glad to know that your unconscious still detests me, then.” He said, trying to sound light. “I was beginning to think that you’ve lost your edge after all of the _wonderful_ time we’ve spent together.”

“You don’t have to be so sarcastic; you know.” She rolled her eyes.

“These nightmares,” He started. “What are they like?”

“Horrible.” She answered honestly. “I haven’t been able to sleep properly.”

“Do I hurt you in them?” He asked, trying to keep the pain out of his voice.

“No!” She denied, looking up and meeting his gaze. “You… I’m not even sure it’s even you. I keep dreaming about people who… _look_ like you.”

She was definitely having the dreams too, he mused. Whatever they were, the dreams weren’t definitely a one-sided thing brought about by his guilt. He _had_ entertained the notion a few months back, just when they started, and he hadn’t been able to entirely shake off his suspicions. But now, she just confirmed that it wasn’t just his overly guilt-ridden brain messing with him.

“When did they start?”

“A week ago.” She answered. “Right after I – uh – saw you. In the classroom. At first, I thought that the people behind the threats were sending me the dreams, like a… warning, of sorts. But I wasn’t entirely convinced, so I did some research.”

“What did you find?”

“It sounds ridiculous. Believe me, I know.” She sighed. “But there’s no other logical explanation, not that _this_ explanation is even logical at all in the first place. It’s so improbable, but it’s the most likely --”

“Cut to the chase, Granger.”

She glared at him, before spitting out, “I can’t move in these dreams; I could only watch. But I’m not an observer, like in pensieves, it’s more like, I’m _me_ in someone else’s body. I think I’m experiencing memories.” He could barely keep up with her speed. Before he could ask her to slow down, she continued, “I’ve checked out most of the _reliable_ sources on reincarnation, but I didn’t come across a case that’s close to what I’m experiencing. But I can _feel_ that I’m right. I don’t know how it happened, but I _know_ that my dreams are memories of past lives. Memories of me… with you in them.”

She waved her wand, and a series of parchment appeared, floating in the air, filled with tiny notes and diagrams. He examined them, impressed. He raised his hand, touching a parchment. It fell slack in his hand, and he read it.

Amazing. One week to research and she’d read enough and amassed more information than he had in the months that he’d been having the dreams.

Typical.

Distractedly, he said, “And the eyes, do you notice differences in them?”

She gasped, and he looked up to see her shocked. She narrowed her eyes at him again, before hissing, “I never said anything about your eyes, Malfoy.”

Fuck.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Special shout-out for Shey, heytteudeungi, and AUConn for your feedback!! I really do appreciate them!


	7. Lightheaded

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi guys! Hope you like this one!

_**Draco** _

“I never said anything about your eyes, Malfoy.”

Fuck.

He hadn’t meant to say it, but he looked up from a diagram of the wizarding brain. Backed into a corner, he did something that no snake would ever do, unless backed into a corner, of course. And the corner that he was backed into had spikes for wall. He answered honestly, “I’ve been having them too.”

She didn’t say anything, but she nodded sharply, frowning at him.

“I wasn’t going to tell you,” He said, trying to explain. He wasn’t sure why he was trying to apologize, because it _wasn’t_ like it was wrong of him to keep the information to himself. “Because I didn’t think that they were important.”

She huffed, “You should have told me, anyway.”

“What? Should I have cornered you in the hall one day, and _demand_ to know if you’ve been dreaming about me too? Should I have gone to you, wherever you were during the stupid war and asked you _why_ I was dreaming about you?”

“You’ve been having the dreams since the war?”

He nodded, answering, “Yes.”

“Since when?”

He tried to tamp down the wave of shame that rose up his throat. He raised his hand, pointing to her forearm. “Since that.”

Her eyes widened, before hardening. She stared at him for a moment, before saying. “Do you know what triggered it?”

He shook his head. “At first, I thought that it was guilt. I… I _watched_ Bellatrix _mutilate_ you. I just stood there and watched.”

“You couldn’t have done anything, Malfoy.” She said dismissively, and her eyes left his, staring at a floating parchment.

“This wretched kind of life, the miserable spirits lead of those who lived with neither infamy nor praise. Commingled are they with that worthless choir of Angels who did not rebel, nor yet were true to God, but sided with themselves.”

“Quoting muggle literature now?” She breathed, catching his reference. “Your neutrality wasn’t your choice, Malfoy.”

“It was, Granger.” He argued. He didn’t bother to tell her that the poet was in fact a squib. Reading his pieces was still taboo in pureblood society anyway. “It was. I _watched_. I _just_ watched.”

“And if you helped me?” She said, “What would have become of you then?”

“Dead.”

“Then it wasn’t your choice.” She said with finality, but none of her words assuaged the guilt eating at him.

“Heaven and Hell both abscond the neutral, Granger.” He sighed, “Even the devil wouldn’t want me. I don’t see why you –”

“But you _chose_ a side!” She said indignantly, as if he was a house-elf in need of her chivalry. Ridiculous.

“You don’t need to defend _me_ , Granger. I am perfectly aware of my actions and their ramifications.”

“No, you aren’t!”

“You think you know me?”

“I don’t --”

“Then why do you presume so –”

“Because _we never had a choice!_ ” She said, cutting him off. “It was between doing evil or doing the lesser evil. You might think that there isn’t a difference, but there _is._ _I_ know more than most that the war was never in black in white! We all found ourselves in places that were grayer than we wanted them to be!”

“You might believe that, Granger,” He said, his voice steel, “But I don’t. So, stop trying to force your opinions on me, because it _doesn’t_ matter to me. I don’t need you to tell me what I am or what I should think of myself. I _know_ that already. I’ve accepted it. _I_ am choosing to acknowledge the mistakes that I’ve made. What is so _wrong_ with that? Stop trying to insist that I have to follow your mindset because there _is_ no right mindset!”

He glared at her, and she looked like she was about to argue, but she remained still. Tense. Suddenly, a thought sprang up. He said, “It’s not me that you’re trying to convince. It’s yourself.”

Her eyes widened, taking his words in. he observed as she looked down and cracked, pain marring her features. Uncharacteristically, her expression made his chest heavy. Sympathy wasn’t an emotion that he thought he could feel. “Whatever you did, Granger, whatever you’re so guilty about… it’s different, from what I did.”

“How is it not?” She choked, and her distress was palpable. Parchment floated down around them as she lost her concentration. His hand itched to reach towards her, but he stopped himself. Comfort from him was not something that she would want.

“Because you’re you.” He said simply. “You were fighting against hate and discrimination and people wanting to _murder_ your people for fun. The decisions you made during the war weren’t self-serving. You did those things _for_ _others_.”

“I… they… I _erased_ them.” She breathed out. “I took away everything from them and I—I didn’t even _tell_ them. How can I live with that?”

He didn’t know what she was blubbering about, but she looked like she was about to cry. He clenched his hand, tensed his body, fighting the urge to go over to her. Usually, when he encountered waterworks, he would take the nearest exit and run away, but something about seeing _Granger_ , tenacious, stalwart, _Golden_ Granger _vulnerable_ made him want to run _towards_ her.

He breathed deeply. He wasn’t used to being honest, but it was the closest thing to comfort that he could give. It felt like he owed her enough to at least give her that. “Your reaction to the oppression wasn’t, and will never be, your fault. It’s theirs, Granger. The difference between us is that _I_ sided with the oppressor when I had the chance to resist. _You --_ you were backed into a corner that forced you to do morally ambiguous things. I had a choice. You didn’t. It’s time for you to believe the words you’ve been spouting all term.”

She didn’t say anything, continuing to stare at him. He felt like he was being examined, searched for cracks, for untruths. A single tear fell down her cheek, and he watched it go down through the side of her nose, down to her lips.

He jumped as she nodded, with a sigh, she wiped at her face, and she looked up at him. He would deny it even under oath, but relief flooded through him as she gave him a weak smile. Then she snorted, “I can’t believe I cried in front of you, Malfoy.”

He grinned. “Ahh, my life’s goal has been achieved. I didn’t expect to make you cry until I was bent down with age.”

“You’re surprisingly being _nice_ about this.”

“I have to be at least _once_ a year. You were just in the right place at the right time.”

“Oh, to be blessed by Malfoy’s annual burst of kindness.” She snorted, “What an honor.”

“Lucky you.”

She rolled her eyes. And he relaxed as she gave him a stronger smile. “Don’t think that I’ve forgotten about the dreams, Malfoy.”

“And here I was thinking that you’d call it a night.” He sighed. Granger, never one to shirk from research, even after an almost emotional breakdown.

She waved her wand, and the fallen pieces of parchment flew up, organizing themselves into nine neat and tidy rows. With a flick, she vanished them, then she stood up. “Come on, I want to go to the library.”

“When don’t you ever?” He groaned.

* * *

**_Hermione_ **

_His eyes, and then light._

_Water, there was so much water._

_She felt her body swim down, through the darkness, following a faint white figure sinking down the depths. The despair that washed over her was familiar now, with a month of having had these dreams almost every day._

_Hermione felt the body swim harder, clawing at water, trying to reach the figure beneath her. Closer now, she could see that the dark water was tinged red, and her eyes zeroed in on the wound on the figure’s abdomen._

_The current pushed against her, and her arms felt like they were burning, even in the cold depths, but no matter how much she tried, she couldn’t reach him._

_She watched as the darkness swallow him whole._

She woke with a start. Groggily, she sat back, squinting at the colorful light filtering through the stained-glass windows. She stretched, yawning as she set the book on her lap back on the table. She hadn’t meant to fall asleep, and the crick in her neck was killing her.

“Dreaming of me again?” Malfoy asked, not looking up from the book that he was reading. She glared at his smug smirk.

“Yeah.” She said dryly, careful not to say anything more. She hadn’t told him that her dreams were mostly about him in various states of _maimed_.

He looked up, assessing her for a moment before saying sarcastically, “Well, you look like you enjoyed it.”

“It was about _you_.” She shrugged, grinning as the smirk was wiped off from his face. “All my nightmares are always so delightful.”

He rolled his eyes. “Still tired?”

“I didn’t expect international travel to be so taxing.”

“You get used to it.” He shrugged.

“Draco Malfoy: Globetrotter.” She teased, trying to say it in the most insulting way possible.

He shot her a grin, “Better than Draco Malfoy: Death eater.”

She couldn’t help the laugh that escaped her. In the past few weeks since discovering that they both had been dreaming of each other, they had maintained an almost decent sort of working relationship. He had become much less aggravating. He could still be a prick, but he had reigned it in-- at least enough for her to not want to punch his nose on sight. Without the general atmosphere of hatred, she had learned to actually find him and his humor _funny_. At least, when his remarks were directed at _him_ and not at her.

Going back to his reading, he added, “Plus, you could usually avoid the exhaustion when you _don’t_ immediately follow international travel and multiple apparitions with a marathon research session.”

“We don’t have time to waste.” She shrugged, “Viktor is leaving again soon, and I want to go through everything I can.”

As if saying his name conjured him, Viktor suddenly appeared from within the stacks, balancing a stack of books in one arm. “Herm-own-ninny,”

“Viktor,” She said, smiling up at him as he approached their table. “I thought you had a function you had to go to.”

He had picked them up from the Bulgarian Ministry, saying that he had a previous commitment that he couldn’t blow off. He left them at his Chateau’s enormous library though, and she really hadn’t been that bothered. She had wanted to catch with him, but her primary goal with the trip had been to know more.

“Yes.” He nodded gruffly as he placed the books on the table, “I escape a little bit because I vonted to see you.”

Leaning forward, he kissed her cheek, and she gave him a brighter smile. “You should have woken me up when you arrived, then!”

“You looked tired.” Viktor said, frowning a little bit. Gesturing to Malfoy, he said, “Mr. Malfoy and I have been talking instead.”

“Stimulating talk.” Malfoy drawled, not even looking up.

She raised an eyebrow at his indifference. She had seen him, along with the other Slytherins, definitely try to schmooze Viktor back in 4th year. His lack of interest was probably from him trying to exude the Malfoy Self-Importance persona. She rolled her eyes and turned back to Viktor.

“That’s very considerate of you.”

Viktor gave her a shy smile. It was endearing. Years of fame and he was still the slightly awkward boy that she had met all those years ago. “The books are from my Grandmother. I had them owled ven you requested them.”

“You didn’t have to!”

“It wasn’t a problem.” He said. The he leaned forward to kiss her cheek again. Then, he smiled at her apologetically. “I have to go. I vish I could stay.”

“Oh no, I wouldn’t want to impose!” She breathed, reassuring him. “You’ve already done so much!”

He gave her another shy smile, before standing up, promising to see her at dinner and walking out of the library.

The moment that he was out of earshot, Malfoy looked up, “Could you two any be more lovey-dovey?”

“Don’t be an idiot, Malfoy.” She said, rolling her eyes. She pulled the stack Viktor gave her towards her. “We’re just friends.”

“Have you asked him that, Granger? It didn’t look like he wanted to be your friend.”

“He’s sweet.” She snorted. “Just because you’re incapable of being nice on a regular basis doesn’t mean that other people can’t.”

“Whatever, Granger.” He huffed. He snatched a book from the stack. Raising his brows when he read the title. “I thought we were going to ignore the dreams?”

“We did,” she said sheepishly. “But we were here, might as well, you know.”

They _had_ agreed that they would ignore the dreams, seeing as they seemed harmless. Or at least he thought that her dreams were benign enough to not merit much more investigation. But she had pursued her research without him knowing, because she couldn’t shake off the feeling that the dreams meant more that what they had initially thought.

She couldn’t chalk it up to coincidence. Nothing ever was in a world where magic made things happen.

“Just when I thought you couldn’t be any swottier.” He smirked, pushing back the tome towards her. “I want to go somewhere tomorrow.”

“But our research time. I—”

“You’d want to go.” He said, “There’s a Goblin forge near this area.”

“A Goblin Forge? How do you know? Their locations have been kept secret for centuries! Almost all the literature about them has been lost or destroyed after the Goblin Wars. Even the copies of _History of Magic_ that wrote about them had been burned!” She said excitedly.

“Our family is old.” He shrugged, but he was obviously smug. “We have secrets that have been passed down through generations.”

“Alright, stop being so cocky.” She laughed. “Can’t we go now?”

He shot her an incredulous look, “Aren’t you tired?”

“I’ve just had my nap.” She dismissed. “This is big, Malfoy! The things we could learn! I –“

“It can wait for tomorrow, Granger.” He said, “The secrecy of the Forge’s location isn’t the only thing that protects them. We’d have to go through numerous wards. We have to be at our best.”

“But I’m ready! I can go now. I don’t want to waste any time.”

“No.”

“We don’t have time! We’ve only got a few days to –”

“No, Granger.” He said, putting his foot down, frowning at her. “I am _not_ going to bring you in an _extremely_ dangerous trip with you as exhausted as you are right now.”

“I’ve _been_ on dangerous situations!” she said stubbornly, matching his frown. “I’ve practically ran on fumes during the war. Stop underestimating me, Malfoy.”

“This _isn’t_ the war, Granger.” He said coldly. “I’m not about to risk my neck or _your_ just because you’re so impatient that you’re stupid!”

“Fine.” She spat, glaring at him.

“Fine.” He said, some of his smugness returning. “I knew you’d see the light.”

She rolled her eyes. “Shut up.”

She ignored his smirk, and opened her book.

* * *

**_Draco_ **

He glared at her. “You have the stealth of a moose, Granger.”

“You’re constant complaining is noisier than my missteps, Malfoy.” She hissed, glaring at him.

They were walking across a thicket of trees, towards the general direction of the abandoned castle that served as the location for one of the last few Goblin forges. It was barely before sun-up, and he was cranky, but in the past few weeks of their tentative friendship, he had found out that Granger was a _monster_ when it came to keeping time. She was almost obsessive with it.

He had almost cursed her hair off when she had snuck into his room and woken him up at the crack of dawn. He grumbled to himself. Mental, that’s what she was.

Suddenly, he saw a glint of metal and he reached forward, stopping Granger in her tracks just before she stepped past the nearly invisible wire.

She glared at him, and he nodded towards the wire. “Is that a _tripwire?_ But it’s a muggle trap!”

“Goblins can only use magic on precious metals.” He explained, knowing that she probably didn’t know that. Goblin magic and its secrets was closely guarded by the Black family, as his ancestors were partial to weapons. “You can expect more than just wards protecting this place. It wouldn’t be protected by modern spells. Ancient rituals and much older magic forms would have been used.”

She looked cautiously at the wire, looking around the forest for more signs of hidden traps. She nodded, before saying. “This is good though, it means we’re close.”

“Ever the optimist, aren’t you?” he said dryly before withdrawing his hand. He clutched his wand tighter, vanishing the wire, and stepped forward.

They walked forward together, finally _quiet_. A few yards off, they encountered ruins. A gate of some sort. He cast a _revelio_ , watching for signs of ripples in the air that signaled the presence of magic. It was like looking at a mirage.

He frowned, turning towards her, “The place is much more heavily warded than I’d expected.”

She nodded, flicking her wand, and a rainbow of colors appeared in front of them. “They have anti-apparition charms, an extremely strong barrier spell, and a few curses that would be triggered if we step over the line. What would happen if I cast a corrosive hex? Would that eat away the magic enough for us to pass through?”

“It might,” He said doubtfully, “But there’s too many layers for it to be effective. The magic that the spell eats away would be replaced almost instantly. We wouldn’t have time to pass through.”

“And if we tried to break the curses? At least the most lethal ones?”

“No. It would take weeks, if not months.”

“Neither of us are trained too,” she said glumly, staring hard at the stone ruins. “Maybe I could send a patronus to Bill? He was a curse-breaker before the war.”

“I doubt that even he could tell us how to break through fast enough.”

“Is this a dead end then?”

“I… I might know something that just might work.” He said and she raised her brow, staring at him expectantly. “The Black family has been benefactors to the Goblins since time immemorial. My ancestors have been given certain… liberties throughout the centuries.”

He stepped forward, gently tapping his wand at the rainbow wall that stood in front of him. He felt hostile magic flow through him, and he had to concentrate to fight against the sudden urge to turn back. He frowned, steeling himself as he slashed his wand across his palm, creating a small gash.

Blood pooled in his hand, and with his wand, he directed the stream to flow towards the wards.

“Malfoy, isn’t blood magic a bit too much?” Granger asked beside him.

“Do you have any other options?” he bit out, and just as the stream reached the rainbow wall, he felt some of the wards dismantle, curses evaporating away in response to the contact. The rainbow wall lost some of its more menacing colors, leaving a mix of bright pink, yellow, and blue pastels.

He ended the spell and re-stitched his wound, vanishing the excess blood. He felt lightheaded, and he stood still as his strength slowly drained away from him.

Granger snatched his hand, examining it before casting a few more spells of her own. “You sealed it up without disinfecting it!”

He rolled his eyes away, pulling his hand back away from her touch. “We should be able to go through without much difficulty now.”

They moved forward as one, dodging pillars of weathered stone. A few steps in, she suddenly stopped.

“I feel like my magic is draining.” She said, giving him a fearful look.

Personally, he had felt too weak to notice much change. But he believed her from the panic that was evident on her face. “Relax, Granger, it’s normal. Dwellings like this are imbued with magic that counteracts ours. While we stay here, we’re essentially as powerful as a squib. It’s to protect the inhabitants.”

She gave him a tentative nod, “We have to hurry then.”

They ventured forward, towards the silhouette of ruins in the distance. They encountered more metal traps. A particularly well-hidden one singed Granger’s hair, and he watched in amusement as she struggled to put it out.

“Stop smirking at me, Malfoy.” The brunette said grumpily, before continuing her walk towards the ruins. They were almost at the entrance hall when she turned to him and said, “Should we… err… inform them of our presence?”

“They already know that we’re here.” He said, shaking his head. Some of the tension came back to him. “They’ve known since the moment we apparated into the forest.”

“Then why did we go through all that trouble?”

“You know why, Granger.” He said impatiently. The lightheadedness he felt set him on edge. “Goblins are fiercely protective and territorial. Especially when it comes to their treasures. They wouldn’t have come to collect us, just to be _welcoming_.”

She grumbled, probably irritated that he knew more than her for once. With a smirk, he said. “Let’s go through the plan again, shall we?”

“You don’t have to keep repeating it, Malfoy. I understand –”

“You’re Gryffindor lack of self-preservation makes me doubt that.” He said, “Again, _I_ would talk, and you would stand beside me. We enter, I ask questions, and we take what we can get. No wheedling them for information. They hate human interaction as it is. I know it would be _hard_ for you, but you have to reign in your curiosity, or it’s going to get us killed. Got it?”

She frowned at him but she nodded, and they continued up the stone steps. Before they approached the massive doors, she cast a few more charms, and deeming it safe, she pushed past him, opening the door.

A creaking sound echoed across the hall. At first, it looked as if it was as bright and sunny and ruined as it was on the outside, but as he stepped across the thresh hold, a different image greeted him.

The hall was dark, with an intact sealing that blocked the light of the sun. Torches hung across the walls, casting it in a dim red light. He felt Granger tense beside him.

“Stay behind me, Granger.”

“Why should I?” She huffed, “I can protect myself, stop treating me like your charge.”

“You’re mine to protect, Granger. You _are_ my charge.” He rolled his eyes at her stubbornness. “ _I’m_ the one that they would deal with, so step behind me before I curse you into it.”

She snorted, and stayed her ground. He glared at her and said, “Fine. But if they _refuse_ us audience, it’s on your head.”

She nodded, and they went further into the hall. The door closed behind them with a slam, and he felt the girl beside him jump in surprise. A small figure appeared at the end of the hall.

“A descendant of the Noble House of Black. And… your pet, I presume” The creature said. Granger stiffened beside him, obviously aghast, but she managed to hold her tongue. “Follow me.”

The figure turned, disappearing behind a corridor, and they hastened their steps in pursuit. They went down and down, through dark hallways and musty rooms. Instead of getting colder, he felt the air getting hotter. Finally, after countless turns, they emerged into a big cavernous room, with dozens of gigantic forges lining the walls. He was panting, from the strain, still a little from the blood magic. He pushed the feelings away. Now, they had to concentrate.

It was sweltering, and he struggled to retain his composure. Beside him, Granger’s hair was becoming a big nest, puffing up with the humidity. Despite the tension of the situation, he found himself memorizing the image for future insult reference.

“It has been years since a Black has come to visit us.” A gruff voice said, and they turned towards the source of the sound. On a tall iron throne, a goblin was seated, glaring down at them. “Approach.”

“Queen Kovachn,” He said, bowing. He felt Granger follow her lead. He hadn’t expected to actually find the Goblin leader in this place, but he could recognize her misshapen chin anywhere. Her picture in one of his family’s books had given him nightmares for weeks as a child.

He moved forward, stopping at a respectable distance. “Ahh, child, you don’t look like a Black.”

“Yes, my father’s features were dominant over my mother’s.”

“No matter.” The Queen said, “How is Pavonis?”

“My great uncle Pavonis has been dead for a hundred years now.”

“Pahh, you humans and your short lives.” She laughed. “Shame, that. He had great taste in weapons.”

“Speaking of weapons,” he started, flashing her a smile that he had seen his father often give to people in power. “We are here to inquire about one in particular.”

“You ask about your mate’s injury, then.”

He felt Granger jolt in surprise beside him, and he shot her a warning glance. It wasn’t in their place to correct the Queen. He wanted to get out of this building with _all_ of his fingers intact, thank you very much.

“I’m afraid I cannot help you, child.” The Queen stated, “Injuries from Goblin blade cannot be healed. Not even by our magic.”

“We’ve come to ask about the knife that made the injury.” Granger said from beside him, and he glared at her. _He_ was supposed to be the one to do the talking.

“Ahh, she speaks. You are lucky that I am in a generous mood, human, else I wouldn’t be saying anything to you.” The Queen chuckled, and Draco felt a tiny bit of relief. “The magical signature on your arm is from a Goblin knife forged during the time of Karm the Strong. The Black family had traded it for a castle. It is a shame that such a beautiful blade was used with such evil intent.”

“Was it one of a kind?”

“Every Goblin-made object is one of a kind!” the Queen said, frowning. “I will excuse your ignorance this time, human, because of your youth. Do not make the same mistake again.”

Black spots appeared in his vision as he struggled to mediate the sudden tension. He gave Granger another glare before saying, “Obviously, it was.” He amended. “Such beautiful craftsmanship. It was immaculate.”

“That indeed.” The Queen nodded, warming slightly to his praise. “It was, however, forged with a twin.”

Draco tried his best to maintain his composure.

“I’m sure that they were both pristine pieces.” He nodded seriously, “May we ask where that twin is now? We wish to see such a beautiful piece of art.”

The Queen’s face turned sour. In the light of the many forges, her previously comically ugly face turned murderous. “Leave.”

“Queen Kovachn, we only want to only see it for a moment.”

“That is what the other human had said. You are all the same. You come here saying you only want answers, but you’ve always coveted our wealth.” She hissed, and dozens of cloaked goblins, each uglier than the last, appeared behind her. They were all glaring, whispering curses at them.

“The other human?” He asked carefully, trying his best not to sound demanding.

“Yes, another one of your treacherous kind.”

“We are prepared to pay in gold.” He offered, trying his best not to panic at the sight of her guards closing in. Goblins were extremely sensitive about their treasure, but not _this_ sensitive. Something bad must have happened.

“I do not doubt your family’s coffers are filled with riches and jewels, child.” The Queen spat vehemently. “But no amount of treasure will bring back one that is already lost.”

He tried to speak again, but the Goblin queen raised her hand, and with a flicking motion, he felt a tug in his gut, and they dropped onto the patch of forest that they had first apparated to.

* * *

“What just happened?” Granger said beside him, obviously disoriented.

“You deviated from the plan.” He said sourly, trying to catch his breath. He stood up, and black spots appeared in his vision. This was bad. The amount of blood that he had taken shouldn’t have been enough to make him feel _this_ lightheaded.

Suddenly, a he felt Granger tackle him back to the ground, screaming at him to duck. The tree behind him exploded, sawdust raining down on their tangled bodies. He pushed her off, standing in front of her, body angled at the direction of the spell.

“Apparate us out of here.” He told her, knowing that if _he_ was the one to do it in this state, it would probably result to them splinching and bleeding on Krum’s foyer.

“I can’t” she said in a panicked voice, “My magic’s still drained.”

He nodded; his fear confirmed. They would be stuck here until they could recuperate enough of their magic. And with the spells they were using to fend off the attack, they would be trapped here for longer than it would normally have taken.

It was an incredibly well-thought-out plan. A list of names was crossed off the list in his head. Few of the madman’s followers would have been strategically-inclined enough to stage this ambush.

Another light burst from the dark forest surrounding them, and he fought through his dizziness as he cast a shield charm, deflecting the green light barreling towards them.

“Malfoy, stop trying to block me.” Granger hissed from beside him, before reaching around and shooting a purple jinx towards the direction of the trees.

“I’m supposed to protect you, Granger.” He huffed, casting a series of spells of his own.

“You look like you’re about to faint, you idiot.” She said, pulling him back.

“I can handle it, so stop trying to push yourself in front of me!”

She didn’t listen to him, still continuing to cast blindly at the trees, shooting shield charms as the spells from their attackers came.

Suddenly, he saw a jet of purple light come from the trees. Granger cast another shield charm, but the hex broke through the opaque barrier, its trajectory unimpeded. He didn’t even have to think about it. He grasped her wrist, pulling her back and he twisted, coming to a stop to face her, his back shielding her.

He felt the spell hit his neck, and a wave of pain pulled him under.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for all the new kudos that you've given!!! It makes me blush. Also, big thanks to your reviews Rin, lemoneight, sofie_ravenclaw, AUConn, jacpin2002, heytteudeungi, and Alice! I really do appreciate all of your support!


	8. Magic

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A little spark to keep the slow burn flames alive. I hope you like this one!!!

**_Hermione_ **

“Hermione.” Ginny said, pulling her out of her reverie. “You’ve been quiet. Is something wrong?”

They were cleaning up the Burrow’s yard, stuck on clean-up duty after pulling out the shortest straws, picking up trash while the rest of the family was inside the house, hanging out. She shot an _immobilus_ at a passing gnome who was carrying a half-eaten potato towards the bushes. Boisterous laughter exploded from inside, and she saw Percy spout a beak through the frosted windows.

“I’m fine, Ginny. Just tired.” And she was. She hadn’t slept properly since coming back from Bulgaria, what with the dreams getting much more vivid and messy every night.

“Hermione.” Ginny said, moving closer towards her. “What’s wrong with you? You’ve been out of it since even before Christmas. You didn’t even say anything when Fleur insulted S.P.E.W.”

She looked at Ginny guiltily, knowing that it was true. She had been avoiding the girl since she was made aware of the threat to her life, not wanting to put a target on the redhead’s back. She had even rejected the girl’s previous invite to stay with them at the Burrow, opting to stay at Hogwarts. She wouldn’t have left the castle, but Molly had put her foot down and _insisted_ that she _at least_ visit for Christmas Dinner.

“Did you not want to come at the Burrow? I know Harry and Ron are still stuck with training, but you know you’re always welcome. We’re family.”

“No, Gin.” She breathed, placing a reassuring hand on Ginny’s arm. “I’ve just had my mind set on a lot of things lately.”

Ginny narrowed her eyes at her, “I’ve never seen you like this, Hermione. You were _really_ distracted before the Holidays. And the last time I’ve seen you quiet in class was when you were trying to figure out a way for the D.A. to meet. And I know for a fact that there aren’t evil wizards coming for your life anymore.”

If only she knew.

Hermione shook her head, aiming a spell at another gnome hauling away a piece of brisket. They had de-gnomed this garden just before they set up the dinner spread! Where were all these creatures coming from?

“I… I have to hurry.” She said, vanishing the rest of the trash littering the yard. “I have to get back to Hogwarts.”

“What’s fifteen minutes, Hermione?” Ginny pressed, “You’ve already spent the day here. A few more minutes to let out some steam won’t hurt anyone.”

“It’s nothing, Gin.” She said apprehensively, knowing that the other girl was right. It wasn’t as if…

“It’s something.” Ginny insisted. “You can talk to me, you know. I may not be Ron, thank Merlin, or even Harry, but I’m still your friend, you know? I can listen, even if you’re distracted about a magical theory or a complicated text that no one but you can understand. Talk to me, Hermione. I’m worried about you.”

Ginny looked apprehensive, like she didn’t quite know if she was putting her foot past a line. Hermione’s heart went out for her usually headstrong friend. She must have treated her badly enough for her to be so insecure.

“I’m sorry Gin, a lot has just been happening, lately.” She said, relenting. “I don’t even know where to start.”

“We can take it in increments.” Ginny said, smiling reassuringly at her. “Tell me one thing, and we’ll take it from there.”

Hermione stared at her friend, grateful for the support that she didn’t know that she needed. She didn’t know what to tell her though, knowing that most of the information that bothered her was confidential.

Ginny gestured for them to walk towards the edge of the garden, towards a ramshackle bench that Hermione was sure only magic could have kept together. The redhead sat down, patting the seat next to her. Hermione sat down, and looked up, staring at the countryside night sky.

“I’ve been… worried.” She started. “About… someone.”

“Is that why you have to get back so fast?”

“Yeah.”

“None of our friends are at Hogwarts.” Ginny mused. Then, her eyes opened wide in surprise. “Are you worried about _Malfoy_?”

“Wha—I never said anything – _Malfoy?_ ” Hermione sputtered.

“Oh, come off it, Hermione.” Ginny laughed, rolling her eyes. “You two have been glued at the hip since November. You keep saying its Heads business when we ask, but _nothing_ has been going on to merit _that_ much time together. I keep seeing you two everywhere.”

“Fine.” She grumbled. “It’s Malfoy. I’m worried about Malfoy.” She laughed. “Never thought I’d say that.”

“Why are you worried, though?” The git didn’t come home for the holidays too, right?” Ginny asked, “Scared he’s burning your things? He’s probably holed up in a dark corner of the dungeons practicing hexes on rats there.”

“He’s not _that_ bad, you know.” Hermione said, “He’s been… decent.”

Ginny’s eyes went as wide as saucers. “Are you two shagging?”

“Ginny!”

“What?” Ginny said, raising up her hands.

“We are _not_ shagging!”

“No need to be so defensive, you know.” Ginny laughed.

“It’s _Malfoy._ ”

“Fine, fine, I’ll shut up.” Ginny smirked. “For the record though, I wouldn’t be surprised if the two of you are.”

“Why would you say that?”

“All that fighting? The tension? The way he looks at you like you’re a treat he just can’t have? Do I even need to elaborate?”

“You’ve been reading too much of Lavender’s books.”

Ginny laughed, and Hermione followed suit. “I read them for the plot, you know.”

“Do you?” She replied dryly, before they both burst into another fit of giggles. Hermione couldn’t remember the last time she laughed so much.

“Back to you worrying about Malfoy.” Ginny said, and Hermione frowned at her. “If you aren’t doing each other inside broom closets, then why are you even worried about him?”

“I guess you could say that we’re friends now”

“Doesn’t explain why you’d be so distracted over dinner.” Ginny retorted, “I still maintain that you’re snogging in that common room of yours.”

“There is _no_ snogging!”

“Is that the problem, then? Do you _like_ him? I told you, Hermione, he stands beside you like he’s doing his best not to jump you. Just say the word and he’d probably have you up against a wall in a blink.”

“Wha— _No._ ” Hermione blushed. “Stop trying to make me ravish Malfoy!”

Ginny raised her hands again in mock surrender. “Alright, I give up. There are no shagging, snogging, or even general chaste kisses happening between you and Malfoy.”

“Correct.” She nodded stiffly, glaring at Ginny as the redhead laughed.

“So why are you worried about him, then? You haven’t answered the question.”

“Because you keep cutting me off!”

“Okay, okay. I’ll shut up and let you talk.”

Hermione looked down at her hands, twisting them together three times. There was a moment of silence, and all of the mirth that she had previously felt faded away as she remembered _why_ she was worried about the blonde.

“He’s… unwell.” She finally said, “And it’s my fault.”

“Git had it coming.”

She glared at Ginny, and the other girl made a motion of zipping her lips together.

“We’re not… you know – as you put it. Shagging.” She stuttered. Since when did opening up about her emotions a problem for her. Hermione shook her head, mustering up her Gryffindor courage. “But we’re friends, as I’ve said. But barely. We… we’re on a temporary truce. Just until we stop working together. I… I was doing a dumb thing, and then he jumped in front of a curse for me, Gin.”

Ginny was stunned into silence, and Hermione sighed, before continuing.

“At the start of the term, I made up my mind to forgive him. For myself, you know. After the war, I was sick of living with all that anger in me. You know as well as anyone that he was _horrid_. For the past seven years, all he’s ever done is make my life miserable. Every word that has come out of his mouth has been a direct hit to all of my insecurities. I know that he’s changed, well, he’s still cruel and vindictive and a jackass most days, but he’s…changed. He’s actually intelligent, and he can debate with me about almost anything. He’s funny, too, when he’s quips aren’t actually directed _at_ me. It confuses me. I didn’t want to hate him anymore, but I also didn’t expect to like him _as a friend_ so much now.”

Hermione left out a huge portion of the situation’s context, like her dreams or the threat and how it had truly affected her view of Malfoy. But they were true, nonetheless.

Ginny was quiet for another moment, but her surprise had given way to an introspective look.

“I don’t really want to be a champion for Malfoy. I don’t trust him. But I trust you, Hermione.” Ginny said quietly. “If you believe that he’s changed, then he has. You’re far from delusional, usually.”

“So, do I just take him as he is now? Without the context of our past?”

“You don’t have to forget about your past, too.”

“Is this it, then? A stalemate?”

“It doesn’t have to be.” Ginny shrugged. “They can coexist together without cancelling each other out. The Malfoy that’s your friend is also the Malfoy that made our lives hard. You just have to decide on which is stronger. Which version of Malfoy affects you more now.”

Hermione smiled at the younger girl. “When did you become so wise?”

Ginny returned her smile, eyes watering. “It’s how I lived with myself after—after you know, my first year. All those people hurt – you were one of them too – all because I wanted someone to listen.”

“Oh Gin,” Hermione whispered, pulling her friend into a hug. “It wasn’t your fault.”

“I know that now, but I couldn’t take away the fact that it happened.”

“But—” Hermione tried to argue, but Ginny cut her off with a shake of her head.

“I’m better now, Hermione. I learned from it, so –”

“What are you two doing out here?” Bill called, standing by the doorway.

“Girl talk!” Ginny replied, sticking out her tongue at her older brother. Bill made a face and retreated back into the house. Ginny turned towards her, “I guess our fifteen minutes are up.”

“Gin, I can stay—”

“No, Hermione. I’m fine, I promise.” Ginny grinned. “We were talking about you, and I somehow made it all about me.”

“I really don’t mind, Gin. I can –”

“Go, Hermione.” Ginny said, standing up and giving her another hug. “You should make your escape now. Mum’s never going to let you off if you come back inside.”

“Are you sure you’re alright?”

“I am, Hermione.” She laughed, rolling her eyes. “Go.”

She stayed a few more minutes, making sure that Ginny was truly okay, before the redhead threatened her with a Bat-Bogey hex if she didn’t leave. With a quiet pop, she apparated back to Hogsmeade.

* * *

_His eyes, and then light._

_Blood. There was so much blood. She ran into the room, stumbling over broken furniture, not caring that glass was ripping into her cloth shoes, slicing her soles. She knelt infront of a body lying bleeding at the center of the room. A girl, golden brown skin pale with bloodloss. Her long dark hair wet with…blood._

_“Yuki!” She screamed, kneeling beside the girl, her own long dark locks falling over Yuki’s face._

_The girl opened her eyes, and she was met with Malfoy’s silver orbs. “Sawako.”_

_“I’m here.” She said, keeping the panic from reaching her voice._

_“Hold my hand, love.” Yuki whispered._

_“We have to get you help! A medic. I—I could—”_

_Yuki shook her head, giving her a faint smile. “Too – too late.”_

_“No!”_

_“I just—want your hand. Please.”_

_Gingerly, she took the other girl’s hand in hers, bringing it close to her face. Tears blurring her vision._

_She watched as the life drained from her eyes._

* * *

She shot up.

Blinking the sleep away from her eyes, she let out a tired yawn, leaning back against her chair. She squinted against the faint sunlight, before her eyes rested on the boy In front of her. Malfoy was still fast asleep. Kept under in a magical coma.

“Miss Granger, you’re up.” Madame Pomfrey greeted from across her. “You shouldn’t have stayed the night, child.”

“I’m okay. He shouldn't have to spend Christmas alone” She answered guiltily. “Any changes?”

The mediwitch busied herself, casting a few more diagnostic spells before she nodded, “All of my tests are showing good recovery. I think Mr. Malfoy is ready to be rennervated.”

“Wouldn’t – wouldn’t he be in pain?” she asked, she didn’t know if the distress from her dream had trickled into her, or if it was her own.

“St. Mungo’s had finally sent me the anesthetic that I’ve requested. And I’ve managed to stop the decay from the curse. He should be fine.”

“Couldn’t we wait until the curse is lifted?”

“He has to be awake for some of the potions to work. Don’t worry, dear, the anesthetic should take away most of the pain.” Madame Pomfrey assured her, giving her a faint smile. “He should be fine, if not a little befuddled.”

Hermione nodded, and she watched the mediwitch cast a rennervate. Malfoy took in a shuddering breath, eyes opening wide. He looked around, obviously confused.

“That should do it.” Madame Pomfrey said, casting a few more diagnostic spells. “Mind him for me, won’t you, dear? I have to get back to a potion I’m brewing.”

Hermione nodded silently again, and the mediwitch turned away, waddling back towards her office. She observed the blonde in front of her quietly, he was already sitting up. His brows shot up in surprise as he looked at her hands.

“Hi, Malfoy.” She said tentatively.

He snapped his head towards her, head tilting as he looked at her, confounded. “Hello.”

“How do you feel?”

The blonde frowned. And she was rooted to the spot as he gave her a goofy grin. “Chipper.”

“Are you alright, should I call Madame Pomfrey?” she asked, worried again. Goofy and Malfoy didn’t mix well. It scared her. This wasn't ' _a little befuddled'_. With his happy grin, he looked completely confounded. She tried to get up, but the blonde’s hand shot out, grasping her robe and pushing her back onto her chair.

“Stay.” He smiled. “You’re pretty. You should stay.”

“Something’s obviously wrong with your head.” She said dryly, scowling at his confusion. She never read that anesthetics had this effect – or at least the wizarding kind. Muggle ones always left patients a little loopy, as Malfoy currently was. Maybe Madame Pomfrey had used a new kind on him?

Her thoughts were interrupted by Malfoy’s cheerful voice. “You shouldn’t frown, you know.” He said, words slurring. “It doesn’t make you any less pretty, though. I change my mind. Please continue scowling.”

“You’re going to die of embarrassment when you wake up.” She said, laughing to herself.

“Why?” He asked, “Can’t I tell a pretty girl that she’s pretty without dying of embarrassment? I must be an idiot, then.”

“You are.”

“No matter.” He said, shaking his head. Giving her another smile. They were starting to creep her out. The smile – not the feeling she felt when he directed it towards her, of course. She started to get up again, but he pulled her back down, away from her chair and towards him. She landed with a thump on his bed.

“Hey!”

“I want to look at you better.” He grinned. “You’re even prettier up close.”

She tried to bat away the hand that was clutching at her robes, but he caught her fist, and held her hand tight.

“Curious.” He said, staring with wonder at their joined hands. Gingerly, he turned it around, like he was memorizing the details of her fingers.

She tried to snatch her hand away, but he held fast. “What are you doing, Malfoy?”

He raised his eyes towards her, “I’m looking at a pretty girl. Pretty, pretty little girl.”

She gave him another scowl, about to berate him, but he cut her off, pressing a finger towards her lips.

“No, shhh. Don’t talk.” He said, wide-eyed, slurring his words even more. He leaned closer, before stage-whispering, “Something tells me you’d say something angry.”

She scowled at him deeper. Malfoy was obviously high. It would have been ridiculously funny if she wasn’t fearing for his sanity.

He was staring at her, studying her face, before his eyes landed on her lips, his own lips parting. For a moment, she thought that he might lean in to kiss her.

She surprised to find that she wasn’t entirely averse to the idea.

But before she could push him back, or pull him towards her. She _didn’t_ want to know. His gaze drifted to her eyes. “Are you promised?”

“Promised?”

“To another.” He explained impatiently. “So, you aren’t? Promised?”

“No, I –”

“I’ll have my father write up a contract.” He said, looking around. “Do you have an owl?”

“You’re proposing to me?” she said, almost screeching.

“Hurts my ears.” He mumbled, still searching his covers for an owl.

“Shallow, aren’t you?” she said, rolling her eyes, still trying to take back the hand that he was holding in an iron grip. “Wanting to marry me because you think I’m pretty? Are we _five_?”

He stopped lifting his sheets, looking back to stare at her, confused. “I’m not just marrying you because you’re pretty.” He drawled. He raised their entwined hands, lifting them up to rest at his cheek. “It’s because of this.”

“Yes, because a hand that you like is an entirely acceptable reason for proposing. You’re taking asking my ‘hand’ for marriage to a whole new height.”

“Silly, silly, pretty, pretty girl.” He chuckled, rubbing her hand against his cheek. She was _not_ marveling at how soft his skin felt. She was _not_ currently having a palpitation from the mere contact. “Don’t you feel it?”

“Feel what?”

Softly, he gave her another smile, and she didn’t want to admit it, but her heart skipped a beat. A _terrified_ beat, she said to herself. She was experiencing an arrythmia. A medical condition not at all related to the blonde’s look of rapture.

He turned her hand again, stroking her palm, and she felt her fingers give way, ticklish. He took the opportunity to intertwine his fingers with hers. He gave a satisfied little huff, turning his head and placing a gentle kiss on her knuckles.

She froze.

He laughed, before staring back into her eyes, and his eyes, the same ones that she’d dreamed about over and over again, night after night after night, softened. They sported the same look that she’d dreamed of, but had never seen in real life. A deep adoration, a warmth that made her shiver. He looked like a blind man seeing the sun for the first time.

“The magic.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Special special special thanks to DramionEverlarkPeetatoRichonne, jacpin2002, Alice, AUConn, and DontStopHerNow! Your reviews are giving me life!!! Also thank you for the new kudos!!! 
> 
> I hope you liked this chapter! A little short and sweet reprive before I start ruining their lives (evil laugh).


	9. Better

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi! I know that this has been slow to upload, but our online classes just picked up again, and I've been swamped with work. :( I hope you all forgive me!!! Banter and a new jigsaw piece up ahead! I hope you all enjoy <3

_**Draco** _

He was feeling a rush of magic surging through him, flowing and ebbing like a tide, soft caresses gently filling him up. It was like being in a dream, and touching Granger’s reincarnation, but he wasn’t sure that it was a dream. He couldn’t remember seeing her eyes, and then the darkness that usually followed before the dreams started.

Groggily, he noted the smell of antiseptic. Was he in the infirmary? Why would he be in the –

And then memories of the ambush crowded the forefront of his brain. He sorted throughout the events, noting with satisfaction that the infirmary smell could mean three things: Granger had brought him back to Hogwarts and to Pomfrey, or she had brought him to St. Mungos, or she had deposited him in a Bulgarian wizarding health facility. The last two was doubtful, because their little trip had been a secret.

Wherever she had taken him, it didn’t matter. The fact that he wasn’t smelling an underground dungeon or not dead from the curse meant that she had gotten them out alive. She was safe. Relief flooded through him, adding to the high that he already felt from the steady stream of magic.

A mumble from somewhere near him jolted him back to awareness. Slowly, he opened his eyes, squinting against the bright light. Groggily, he noted the high stone ceilings, confirming that he was indeed at the Hogwarts infirmary. He had stared up at that ceiling countless times before, due to his numerous Quidditch injuries and his rather long stint of recovering from the _sectumsepra_ that Potter shot him with two years ago.

Another mumble came from beside him, and he followed it to Granger’s sleeping figure. She was lying like a starfish on another hospital bed, pushed closer towards his to accommodate their held hands. His eyes drifted towards their entwined fingers, wondering how _that_ had happened.

He found that he was too high on magic to even complain.

He shifted. Turning his body to face towards her, bracing himself from the ache that didn’t come. He had known what the spell that hit him was the moment that he felt his organs start to burn. It was a bitch of a curse. Invented by the mad man himself and taught to his inner circle. His father had been forced to curse him with that spell after Draco had returned to the Manor after failing to kill Dumbledore.

Pomfrey did a good job with healing him. The first time that he had taken the curse, he had spent a week bedridden, healing his liquefied organs. He frowned at the memory, before pushing it away and focusing at the situation at hand.

Granger was across him, holding his hand.

Making sure that they were alone, he took the opportunity to observe their hands. He was holding hers in a vice-like grip, and she was holding his with the same vigor. He relaxed his grip, but her hand didn’t fall away, instead her fingers tightened around his, adjusting to the change in position.

He held his breath, waiting for her to wake.

She didn’t.

He allowed himself to bathe in the glow that their magic melding brought. It was different from what it was in the dreams. Then, he had thought that their touching brought about an intense rush, but in real life, it was much, much more potent.

He could barely think, and very unlike his usually strong sense of self-preservation, he felt that he didn’t care about the consequences of anyone seeing them in this position. His gaze shifted towards her face.

She looked peaceful, and the lines of tension that he was used to seeing were erased by sleep. Her mouth was slightly open, and a little drool was slipping out. Instead of being disgusted, he found it rather _cute_.

The spell must have hit his brain.

He was thinking that Granger was _cute_.

It was absurd.

But, the more he stared, the more he started to think that the idea wasn’t as unthinkable. Objectively speaking, of course, Granger was rather pretty. Her eyes were too big, and her brows were uneven, but she was pretty. In an unassuming sort of way. She shifted, mumbling another unintelligible thing, and he caught himself, cursing the high for making him sound like a dunce. Granger, _pretty._ What an idiotic thing to think.

The high was messing with his head. That had to be it.

The magic was soothing him, distracting him again.

It was glorious, the magic that he felt.

For the first time since the idea of reincarnation was forced into his head by Lovegood, he allowed himself to actually think that the impossible _might_ just be possible.

She was his soulmate.

He lowered his guard, and all the implications that he had been ignoring since the start of the term bounced around in his mind.

Soulmates, although rare, was not unheard of in the wizarding world. Someone who would be a perfect fit. A person to grow towards and to grow with together. It was the stuff of fairytales. Or rather, _soulmates_ were the _basis_ of said fairytales. It was a one in a million occurrence. And to actually _find_ her. The improbability of the situation astounded him.

But here he was. Holding her hand.

And it was _Granger._

The last girl on earth that would want him as hers.

He shook his head, forcing his eyes away from her lips. His gaze fell back towards their clasped hands, and he glared at the dark mark marring his forearm. It was there, in stark contrast to his skin. He looked at her forearm, and he saw the scar that his aunt had given her.

It was enough to wake him up fully.

He shouldn’t be doing these things. Holding her hand and thinking that she was pretty.

The mark on his arm and the scar on her forearm were enough of a reason for him to derail his line of thinking.

It didn’t matter that he had loved her for the past thousand life times. In _this_ one, they were irreconcilable. Deatheater and mudblood.

The word tasted bitter, even though he was only thinking it.

 _Oh, how the mighty have fallen._ He mused.

Centuries of blood supremacy, and the last heir to the Malfoy line was _disgusted_ by the mere thought of a name that he was pretty sure his ancestors have coined. They must be rolling in their graves.

He laughed to himself, before a somber thought entered his mind. It didn’t even matter – that he had changed. That he had turned his back towards his family’s beliefs. She would never have him.

Too much of the war had scarred them – scarred her, and it was his fault. How could she possible accept, when he had been instrumental in every bit of hurt that she had felt since stepping onto the wizarding world? She had been right. He hadn’t held the wand that cruciod her, or the knife that marred her skin, but his words had been razors that left gashes that he was sure nothing could heal.

How could he even think about thinking about her as his?

He frowned, angry at himself for letting his thoughts wander towards the box that he had been keeping in check since the dreams had started. The box filled with love from a thousand different lives. They were not _his_. Not _his_. But they could be. And that was what he was scared of.

It would be easy to let the magic sweep him off his feet. It would be easy to let the dreams bleed into reality. He knew that he could fall in love with her the moment he let himself go. It was terrifying. Even now, in the bright, unforgiving light of a rare Scottish sunny December day, he could already feel it. His heart, almost erratic, his skin, tingling from the rush of soul magic, his eyes, glued to her form.

If he wasn’t careful, he would crash right into the bottomless pit.

He couldn’t help the feeling that it was as if he was already halfway from falling.

Gently, he pried off his fingers from hers, and the magic stopped. It was like a cold shower. The loss of the warmth made him feel like he was the coldest being on earth.

He probably was.

He cleared his mind, chasing away the last vestiges of her magic.

He shouldn’t be thinking about problems that he _can’t_ solve. There was no use thinking about the possibilities, when there was only one scenario that could possibly play out.

They would graduate. She would go on to whatever career she wanted. She would be the golden girl, bright and shining and a beacon of hope to all of the undeserving creatures that she would crusade for. She would find someone that wasn’t him. She would grow old. She would die. And he would be in the shadows, as it should be. He would live the only kind of life that he deserved. He would serve his penance. He would fade away and wait until he could try again in the next life.

He knew, without a shadow of a doubt, that there was no other way. This was it. He had made his bed, and he should now be ready to lie in it.

It wasn’t easy to accept.

He had never been a martyr.

He stopped his thoughts in their tracks, before his Malfoy sense of self-importance made itself known and distract him from completely accepting his lot in life.

He had to focus on the now. On problems that he could solve.

“Granger, any more saliva leaking out of you and you’d be a dehydrated into a husk.” He drawled loudly, trying to wake her up.

She had bolted upright, panicking. She took her wand, and swiftly aimed it at him, a curse at the tip of her tongue before she came into her senses and realized that his prone form on the hospital bed, wearing a Christmas-themed hospital gown wasn’t exactly _threatening_.

“What was that for, Malfoy?” she snapped, throwing a pillow at his head.

“Ow!”

“You deserve it.” She huffed, falling back down onto the bed. “Now, give me back my pillow so I can go back to sleep.”

“After you’ve maimed me when I’m wandless and injured?”

“A pillow hardly counts as something you can use for maiming.”

“It is when you’ve just regrew your organs.”

She breathed sharply, her irritation melting away, looking at him apologetically “Are you really hurt?”

“Of course not, Granger.” He said condescendingly, smirking at her. “It was a pillow.”

“You’re impossible.”

“Good morning to you too,” he said, teasing again. All previous somber thoughts chased out of his mind by the sight of Granger frazzled first thing in the morning.

She groaned. “Are you seriously not letting me go back to sleep?”

“I’ve been asleep for Morgana knows how long.” He said, “If I’m awake, the world should be awake.”

“What a pompous git.”

“What a snarky, hotheaded, bookworm.”

“I’m not even reading!”

“Book or not in hand, the insult still stands.”

She shot him another look, looking around, probably for another thing to lob at his head. He felt loads better already. The cold from letting go of her hand was already almost forgotten. Riling Granger up always put him in a good mood.

Apparently giving up her search for a projectile, she turned towards him, giving him a glare. “I liked you better when you were knocked out.”

“That’s no way to talk to your _protector_ , Granger.”

She raised her eyebrows in affronted surprise, then she gave him a sly grin, “Well, that’s no way to talk to your _fiancé_.”

“Wha—” he sputtered. Fiancé?

“Yes Malfoy,” she said in a sickly-sweet voice. “Don’t you remember? You woke up and asked for my hand in marriage.”

“I would never—”

“You called me pretty.” she laughed, batting her eyes mockingly at him. “What was it again? Ahh. ‘Pretty, pretty’, if I remember correctly. Apparently, it was the only adjective you could think of.”

“I don’t recall.” He said sourly. His good mood instantly evaporating, replaced by embarrassment. He was sure that she had been asleep. He wasn’t even saying it out loud, for Merlin’s sake!

“I’m not surprised, she said, now full on grinning. “You were too hopped up on pain meds to tell your left foot from your right.”

“Inventing things now, are we, Granger.” He said, brushing it off. “Projecting your _desire_ onto _me_ now? We both know that you find me attractive, Granger, but there are other, less _childish_ ways to seduce me, you know.”

He watched as she turned beet red. He smirked, as she replied. “I’m _not_ seducing you, Malfoy.”

“Sure you are,” he said, almost giddy to have the upper hand again. He probably _was_ on medication, seeing that his mood was swinging like kelpie hair.

“I am _not_.”

“Childish.” He said, laughing.

“You’re impossible.”

“I believe we have established that.”

She rolled her eyes, and apparently remembering that she was a witch who had completed OWL-level transfiguration, she pointed her wand to her blanket and transfigured it into a pillow, turning away from him with a huff.

“Now, Granger, you can’t just ignore me when you know you’re losing.” He teased.

“Watch me.” She bit back, and something about the absurdity of it all made a real genuine laugh come out of his mouth.

He didn’t remember the last time that he had truly let loose like this. It was disconcerting. But her behavior was beyond amusing.

They were lying here, in the hospital wing, with beds pushed closer together on a rare sunny Scottish winter, not trying to kill each other. He let out another laugh.

“Are you alright, Malfoy?” she asked warily. “Should I call Pomfrey. She’s on leave right now, but this might be an emergency.”

His laugh faded into quiet chuckles. “I _am_ a human being, you know. I _do_ know how to laugh at things that amuse me.”

“Could’ve fooled me,” she said, rising up. He watched her shoot him a diagnostic spell. “I’ve known you for seven years and it’s the first time I’ve heard you like this. Did the pillow to your head addle your brain?”

“The sight of your face addles my brain.” He retorted, rolling his eyes at her suspicion.

She ignored him, and continued to cast another set of diagnostic spells.

He huffed at her disbelief, trying to sit-up on the bed.

“Don’t.” she said, and with a wave of her wand, he felt a force push him back onto the mattress. “You’re still healing.”

“Didn’t stop you from aiming at my head.”

She snorted, and sat down on the chair beside her the bed she had used.

“You’re bed head’s such an easy target though.”

“Bed head?” he said, patting down his hair, giving her a mock indignant look.

“Vanity does not become you.”

“On the contrary, I’ve been told that it does.”

“You’re delusional.”

“And you’re stalling.”

“Me?” she questioned. “You’re the one who woke me up at an ungodly hour. I would say you’re the one whose stalling.”

“Malfoys do not _stall_.” He drawled. “We simply have a scheduled that everyone else must follow. Through any means possible.”

“That doesn’t even make any sense.” She said, rolling her eyes, before settling back. “Now ask your questions, Malfoy.”

“Perfect timing, Granger.” He said, flashing her a charming smile. “You’re following _my_ schedule to a T.”

She rolled her eyes again, before staring at him pointedly. “Ask your questions, Malfoy.”

“Only because you insist.” He said, adjusting his position on the bed. “How did we get away?”

“After your stupid stunt, I managed to hit one of the attackers with a stunner.” She said, looking at her hands. Her words were reproachful, but they lacked any real anger. “Luckily, I recovered enough from the Goblin wards to apparate you back to Hogsmeade.”

“You did inter-country apparition?” He asked, extremely irritated, but also just a little bit impressed. “Most wizards and witches can’t even manage crossing the channel! You got us all the way back to England, even after being drained by blood wards? What an idiotic thing to do, Granger! You could have splinched yourself!”

“I didn’t have a choice! I didn’t know if it was safe to bring you anywhere else!”

“You could have dropped me off at a closer medical facility! You shouldn’t have strained yourself so much!”

“They would have recognized us! Our faces have been plastered on every major publication in Europe. What choice did I have?”

“You could have left me at –”

“And you wouldn’t have been recognized? I doubt anyone could mistake that hair, or –”

“You risked your life!”

“I did it to save you.” She said, cheeks aflame with anger. “Without me, they would have healed you and shipped you off to Azkaban, Malfoy. Was I supposed to just leave you?”

“Yes!” he shouted, frustration getting the better of him. “ _I_ am supposed to protect _you_ , not the other way around, you nitwit.”

“You were _dying_ , you idiot.” She retorted, “I could practically see waves of dark magic coming off of you!”

“Then you should have known that I was beyond saving!”

“You’re alive, aren’t you? Clearly you weren’t.”

“You shouldn’t have—”

“It’s done, Malfoy.” She said dismissively, as if she hadn’t bent the rules of magic to save him. “You’re here, and I’m here and we’re both alright.”

“Fuck, Granger.” He groaned. “How am I supposed to protect you when you rush headfirst into the riskiest choices?”

“Don’t, then.” She said, crossing her arms. “I told you, I don’t need protecting.”

“Do I need to remind you _again_ that—”

“I know your mother’s life is at stake, Malfoy!” she shouted, “I _know._ But Kingsley wouldn’t hold it against you if I somehow manage to kill myself doing something stupid.”

“I doubt that.” He bit back.

“I made sure, alright.” She said, voice softening. “I made sure that they would. Even if I—even if they somehow get to me. We aren’t cold-blooded, Malfoy. We don’t operate like _you_ do. They don’t need a reason to protect her if she needs it.”

“That’s not how the world works, Granger!”

“It does in mine!” she said, irritated at him again. “So just shut up and stop berating me for every little thing I do that’s not in line with _your_ idea of how I should act.”

“You’re impossible.”

“Pot, meet kettle.” She huffed.

They lapsed into a tense silence. She was an idiot. She would get herself killed. And if the implications of her being his soulmate scared him, the thought of her dying was terrifying. His memories flashed back to the dream of the willow girl. Her screams. The anger he had felt. The need to burn the world down.

He struggled to tamp his irritation down. Knowing her, no amount of arguing would make her see sense. Stupid Gryffindor bookworm with a hero-complex that he was sure would drag him down to _his_ own grave too.

“We’ll talk about this again, when you learn to listen to reason.”

“First of all, Malfoy, I _do_ listen to reason, but not when it’s entirely based on unfounded assumptions. Apparating was a _risk_ , yes, but I was prepared for the repercussions of that. Stop underestimating me. _Second_ , you’re being overbearingly protective of me. Stop it. I told you, I don’t need it. _Third,_ if you don’t quit it and leave it alone, I’m not answering any more of your questions.”

“Fine.” He said, it was his turn to roll his eyes. “How long was I out?”

She bit her lip. “Four days now.”

“Only four?”

“You sound like you know the curse.”

“I’ve been tortured with it before.” He said nonchalantly, not meeting her eyes. “I presume the Minister already knows about your little side trip?”

She nodded, looking like she wasn’t willing to let the subject of his torture drop, but he sent her a pointed glare, and she sighed, before answering. “Yes. I informed them as soon as I got you settled.”

“You’re not telling me something.” He noted, seeing her shifty expression. “Spit it out, Granger. We haven’t got all day.”

“I was getting to that part.”

“Sure you are.”

She rolled her eyes. “I… I stumbled across something, before I apparated us.”

“Do you have it now?”

“Kingsley has it. I expect that he’s got the Department of Mysteries checking it out.”

“What was it?”

“Another knife.”

“Goblin made?”

“Yes.”

“The twin?”

“No. I think it was… much older.”

He couldn’t stop the sharp intake of breath. “Was it familiar?”

“No.” she answered, knowing that he had made the connection. “I haven’t dreamed about it before.”

She reached towards the nightstand beside her bed, picking up a small book from the middle of the stack. Gingerly, she clutched it towards her chest, looking at him tentatively.

“Give it here, Granger.”

“You’ve just woken up. Are you sure that—”

“I’m well enough to annoy you,” he pointed out. “Obviously, I’m capable enough to see a picture.”

“It… it might not even be connected to—to us. It might just be a coincidence.”

“I find that hard to believe. All of my lives apparently orbit around yours.” He said dryly. “In this life as well, apparently.”

“Fine.” She said, her fingers brushing across the book’s pages. “But you have to tell me if you’ve seen it before.”

“My, Granger, you don’t trust me?”

“Not when it comes to secrets.” She retorted. “Don’t think that I don’t know that you’re not telling me everything, even though you’ve absolutely _insisted_ on my honesty.”

He snorted, and he snatched the book away from her outstretched hands. She snapped her fingers, and it opened to a page with a drawing of a knife.

“Katoptris. It’s a dagger that history reports say belonged to –”

“Helen of Troy.” He finished for her, recalling the girl that he had kissed on a ship. His first dream.

“So, we _are_ their reincarnations.” She sighed, not all that surprised. “Menelaus or Paris?”

“Paris.”

“I find it hard to believe.” She said. “That I was ever dumb enough to cause a war.”

“She wasn’t dumb.” He replied before he could stop himself. “Soul magic is practically irresistible, Granger. Anyone without our history would’ve been hard-pressed to ignore the pull. If I had met you now, instead of when we were eleven, you wouldn’t find it as easy to judge her.”

“I never thought you’d advocate for _me_ , Malfoy” she smirked.

“Make no mistake, Granger, I’m insulting your knowledge on the subject.”

“Magic is a tool. No one with enough brain cells to rub together would blame it for their _actions_.”

“Your ignorance is showing. Magic isn’t like that.” He said, staring at the image. Noting the intricate designs of the dagger. “It’s not a bow, or an arrow, or a wand. Magic is much more than that. It’s part of who you are. Part of what makes a person up. It’s ingrained in the very fibers of our being, with us and within us, in everything that we do. In everything that we touch with our lives.”

“Poetic.” She said with a roll of her eyes.

“And you’re acting like my ancestors.” He snapped, looking up from the dagger and giving her a pointed stare. “Parroting an ideology that the same people you’ve fought against believed in. I’ve had to unlearn that thinking, especially when it was the basis of centuries of lies about _your_ kind stealing our magic from ours. It’s time you unlearn it as well.”

She sputtered, and Draco smirked. Hermione Granger, speechless. He rather enjoyed it.

His eyes went back to the knife. Then he realized something. Sending her an irritated look, he said, “You told me that you stunned the attacker after I collapsed. Then you apparated us. Where and _when_ , exactly, did you find the knife?”

“I told you –”

“Was there another attacker? Did they use it on you?” the surge of panic he felt was beyond that of his initial reaction to knowing that he had left her in danger.

“Calm down, Malfoy.” She said, huffing at him. “I didn’t get it from them.”

“So, what? You stumbled across it in the forest while trying to drag my dying body away?”

“I summoned it.”

“You what?”

“I… somehow—summoned it. I think” She said, unsure. “I was… panicking about you. Because obviously losing the Malfoy heir would take away my Golden Girl status.”

“Obviously,” he remarked, rolling his eyes at her attempt at humor.

“It just appeared, sheathed on my forearm.” She said, “I didn’t wonder about it until – until I talked with Professor McGonagall.”

“You _forgot_ that a knife magically appeared on your person?”

“Shut up, Malfoy. I was distracted.”

“I’m glad that you were so _invested_ in my well-being, Granger.”

“I didn’t say that it was about _you_.”

“Sure, it wasn’t.” he teased. The pages of the book he was holding rustled together, as if demanding their attention back. He frowned. He was constantly distracted like this when he was around her. It was annoying.

“ _Anyway_ ,” she said pointedly. “Since you’ve confirmed that they are our reincarnations, then this knife must mean something _more_."

"You think that our dreams are somehow connected to whatever scheme that's happening here?"

"It might be."

"A rather long jump, from knowing that your soul and mine are mates to rogue death eaters putting you in mortal peril, is it not?" he said doubtfully.

"The dreams themselves aren't normal." She reasoned. "I've read all of the material here on soul magic. And then the books that Viktor gave me. Nothing, not _one_ references dreams as vivid or as detailed as ours. It has to be connected."

"My dreams started _way_ before this threat presented itself." He pointed out, "And you didn't even start dreaming until -- until a few weeks ago. I don't see how we could make sense of this."

"We're missing something -- something important." She insisted, "You've said it yourself. Coincidence isn't a word that we could generally associate with situations that happen to the both of us. Maybe it's because one of us is in danger."

"You've been in danger since you decided that Potter was worthy of becoming your friend." He said dryly. "You're theory has a thousand different holes in it."

"It does," she admitted. "But that's because we're yet to find so many pieces of this puzzle. I just have to find another piece, or think about it in another way -- to see -- to see the bigger picture. There _has_ to be a bigger picture. This is connected, Malfoy. And I plan to find out how." 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So much love for all of you who gave this work their kudos! Also, big thanks to Alice, Sara92, SusanMarieR, jacpin2002, Adriana, AUConn, ashegtn, DramionEverlarkPeetatoRichonne, Missingartist for the reviews!!! It makes me so happy!!! <3 THANK YOU!


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Universe not mine, but JK Rowling's
> 
> Sorry for the time it took for me to post! I hope you enjoy this one!

**_Draco_ **

He woke with a start.

Breathing heavily, he tried to control the reaction that his body was giving. The dream had been intense, in a way that wasn’t the same with the other dreams. It had involved a bed, the sun, and immense amounts of chocolate syrup. He shuddered, willing his thoughts to stop.

Sighing dejectedly, he got up and took his broom from its case, needing something to do with his hands that _didn’t_ involve him doing unspeakable things with Hermione Granger on his mind.

He was positive that the past few weeks had been some kind of personal hell, designed just for him, probably a trial version of what he would expect one he finally got offed trying to stop Granger from getting herself into trouble in one of her hare-brained schemes.

Not that her schemes were _stupid_ , he would admit that much. They were, at the very least, brilliant. No one in the past century ever _did_ outsmart the sphinx that had guarded the Library of Alexandria. Or managed to get an Erumpent to calm down after it was provoked into charging (no matter _what_ Granger tells anyone; it certainly wasn’t _him_ who had annoyed the beast).

But her schemes rather tended to be high-risk, high-rewards scenarios that warred with his Slytherin sense of self-preservation. He was _not_ going back to that Bundimun infested manor in Kazakhstan, no matter how many “absolutely rare” books they could go back for again. One piece of fungus-infested scaffolding falling on your _hair_ was already one too many.

The danger of their “Educational Field Trips”, as she liked to call them, _was_ enough for him to blanch at the thought of ever going on one again. But no, it wasn’t the cause of suffering that he had been going through.

It was the _proximity._

Not that he was far enough away from her as it is, what with them being joined at the hip these days (for ah – safety’s sake, of course,) but something that happened during the time that he had been comatosed by that dark spell in that blasted Goblin Forest had opened the floodgates to _feelings_ that he had been rather adept at ignoring. Well, until then at least.

He had thought her _cute_ , then, disgusting word that was. And he had initially assumed that it was a product of Pomfrey loading him with enough medication to down a troll… until he had found himself counting the shades of brown in her hair (seven, not that anyone is asking), or thinking about the way she laughed at him when he raised his brow in response to her absolutely refusing to put sugar in her tea.

His dreams weren’t helping, either. The last dream had been particularly _sinful_ , and Granger was not someone you should ever associate with _sin._

Not only did he now spend the weekdays following her around like a faithful little guard dog (which he did because he had found that it took her only an _hour_ to find herself in precarious situations when he was not around to dissuade her from her bloodhound-like drive for knowledge), he was also spending his weekends traipsing about the globe looking for ancient scrolls. Their trips, which usually took up most of their weekends, was commonly spent in less than _ideal_ situations. His grandfather would have a conniption if he ever found out that the Malfoy Heir was reduced to sleeping in a _tent_ in the ruins of a Peruvian treasury.

Small accommodations and his newfound interest in the sounds she made while she was asleep was _not_ helping him live a life of relative quiet that he had initially planned.

And it absolutely did _not_ help, that she had grown comfortable with him, treating him as if he was a _friend._ She still screamed at him when he pushed the right buttons, but otherwise, her voice was now several octaves lower when he was around than it was at the beginning of the term.

Calm, collected, and _friendly_ Granger was not someone that he could _dislike_.

It was a complication.

And he spends almost every waking moment trying to stop himself from doing something stupid, like laughing at her frequently corny attempts at humor.

It was going to drive him crazy.

He probably already _was_ crazy. It was only a matter of time, though. Bella _was_ his aunt, and he _is_ spending an unhealthy amount of time with Hermione Granger.

Suddenly, there was insistent banging on his bedroom door. Speak of the devil.

Grudgingly, he got up from his desk, pushing away the broom that he was polishing in a poor attempt to control his raging hormones. The knocking became louder, and he was tempted to just silence the door and let himself have some peace.

“It’s 7 am, Granger.” He grumbled, opening the heavy oak to see an excited Granger staring up at him, wide smile showing her altered teeth. It was a good thing that he was in such a bad mood, because otherwise, he would have found himself utterly floored.

Weeks of this, and he was still disarmed. Ridiculous.

“Malfoy!”

“Stop shouting,” he said dryly. Brushing past her to avoid staring at her face.

“I found something.” She said, following him out into their common room. He snapped his fingers, and an elf appeared. Giving the tiny creature instructions to bring him their strongest cup of tea, he settled down onto their couch, ignoring the glare that she was giving him.

“You wake me up at the ungodly hours of morning, you have to deal with seeing me order the house-elves about.”

“It’s hardly early, Malfoy.” She said, rolling her eyes. A platter of biscuits and tea appeared in front of them, and he gingerly raised his steaming cup. He had been awake, but he _hadn’t_ been prepared to deal with her and his insane reactions to her as early as now. “The sun is up. Most people aren’t nocturnal.”

“Tell that to _our_ age group.” He huffed. “Stop glaring at me and tell me about whatever it is that you deemed important enough to bang on my door for.”

“I’m sorry that you lost precious sleep.” She said, rolling her eyes, but he could tell that she was already starting to get excited again.

“Malfoys are to sleep a minimum of eight hours each day.” He deadpanned. “It’s what keeps my skin clear.”

“I’m sure,” she said wryly. “Anyway, read this!”

Excitedly, she crossed the table, sitting down next to him and reaching over to get a fragile-looking scroll off of their Library of Alexandria stack.

“You couldn’t have copied the original on much more durable paper?” he asked, moving away from her entirely too-close person.

“I duplicated the paper as well, because the ink might not hold on regular paper.” She said, waving her hand dismissively. Leaning in closer towards him again.

“Move back, Granger, your hair is trying to eat me.” He muttered, opening the roll, trying to ignore the electric buzz that he was starting to feel on his side.

It was another source of torment – her touch. She was _friendly_ with him now, and tended to not respect the amount of space that she had previously given him. It was distracting, to say the least. And he was not in any mood to try to ignore the rush of magic that invaded his thoughts when she ever so much as grazed him.

“Quit complaining and read, Malfoy.” She said, rolling her eyes but scooting away from him all the same. He wrinkled his nose at her, and he shifted his attention to the scroll.

Tiny hieroglyphs greeted him, and he waited for a moment, expecting her to do a translation spell, before looking up at her. “Do you expect me to be able to read Ancient Egyptian?”

“Oh, right,” she said, waving her wand, absent-minded in her excitement.

“Is this a _sex_ manuscript?” he asked, bewildered. “Is this your bookish way of coming on to me, Granger? Because I assure you, doing so at sunrise does _not_ endear you to me whatsoever.”

“Oh, give me that.” She snapped, snatching the scroll away from his hands. “It _is_ a… guide on _coitus_.” She blushed. “But it also contains ancient spells, potions, and rituals on sex magic.”

“I don’t see how this is not a come-on.”

“Stop talking about me seducing you!” She huffed. “Honestly, some maturity would be appreciated.”

“I think that scroll is _mature_ enough for the both of us.”

“Ugh, I should have waited for the caffeine to kick in.” she frowned, glaring at him. “As I was saying, the ancient Egyptians were experts on sex. They were obsessed with it, and this reflects in their spells, potions, and rituals. They’re probably the ones who invented the concept of love and its connection to the soul. This is a gold-mine, Malfoy!”

“Hurrah,” he said, trying to keep his voice even. Her excitement was rubbing off on him. Damn him and his newfound apparent weakness towards all-things Granger. Anyone else who disturbed him this _early_ , for a _book_ , would have been met with the end of his wand. “Find anything of importance yet?”

“Of course, I have, what do you take me for?” she retorted. Standing up, she waved her wand, and the portraits nestled on one wall shifted away from each other, creating a blank space of stone. The inhabitants tumbled out of their frames, and got back up disheveled, glaring at her. It was probably the first time he had seen a _bowtruckle_ glare.

“What in Merlin’s name are you doing?” he asked her, knowing for a fact that if the paintings had been able to talk, they would probably all be cussing at her.

“I’m making a wall.” She said, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. He looked at her with confusion, until she rolled her eyes and added. “A wall. I’m going to pin up leads and pieces of this absurdly obscure puzzle so that we could easily track our progress.”

He felt an uncomfortable feeling in his stomach as he heard her say _our_ so casually. “You’re barmy.”

“And you’re entirely too pessimistic.” She said. She flicked her wand, and dozens of parchment appeared on the wall, with what looked like _yarn_ , cherry red, criss-crossing across the pages.

“Finish your tea.” She ordered. “We have work to do.”

* * *

**_Hermione_ **

_His eyes, and then light._

_Explosions were everywhere –no_ fireworks _. It wasn’t the loud blast of spells, and the multicolored lights that lit up the sky weren’t the firing of curses. They were safe. Now, they were safe._

 _“Viola, love, stop scowling, you’re going to scare the owls away.” a voice whispered beside her, in a thick Southern American accent, and her body turned towards the owner, whose head of midnight curls was currently pressed to her chest. “Come celebrate, sunshine, you’re entirely too high-strung for your own good. We won! We’re safe, and_ free. _”_

_“Esmeralda.” She tutted, her hands moving up to massage the other girl’s neck. “We can’t be too careful.”_

_“Tonight, we can,” the dark-hair girl said, smiling up at her, giving her a roguish look that was so like Malfoy’s it made her dizzy. “Live a little, sunshine!”_

_“Fine.” She acquiesced. “But only for tonight, okay! Tomorrow, we have to go back to research.”_

_“Great, because I’ve already told the others that we’re coming.”_

_She opened her mouth to protest, but the girl pressed a finger to her lips, following it with a kiss. “You promised.”_

_“Alright, alright.” She huffed, and Esmeralda pulled away with a self-satisfied smirk. She busied herself around the room, pulling things out and tossing them towards Viola, once in a while shooting her little good-natured jibes._

_Hermione felt Viola’s ease and comfort with the whole situation. Like it was a life that they were used to living. It was a feeling that she had seldom felt in her dreams – which were for the most part high-adrenaline situations that left her waking up drenched in sweat._

_“Come on, sunshine!” Esmeralda said, pulling at her hand. “We’re going to be late!”_

_“_ You’re _the one who couldn’t decide which hat to use.” Viola grumbled, but good-naturedly held the other witch’s hand. After a second, they apparated outside of a noisy pub._

_Viola looked at the building apprehensively, frowning at the number of witches and wizards seemingly not even trying to hide their magic. A middle-aged man was summoning alcohol with his wand, while a group of university students were taking turns transfiguring each other into animals._

_She turned towards Esmeralda; whose eyes were bright with excitement. Of the two, Esmeralda had always been the one who preferred to spend her time smooching with other people. Making friends and connections that Viola never bothered to do, preferring to spend_ her _time in actual pursuit of worthwhile things, like_ knowledge.

_“Stop being so worried!” Esmeralda said, screaming into her ear to get herself heard over the loud laughter and merry-making. “The ministry has cleared the area, non-maj-free, I guarantee it!”_

_“Okay, okay.” She sighed. “You can stop selling this place. Let’s go in.”_

_It took Viola an hour before she could fully relax, and another two to get completely and properly sloshed. It was disconcerting, hearing and feeling and seeing the drunken thoughts of another’s mind. Hermione just_ knew _that she was going to get a headache when she woke up._

_She was almost lulled by the general cheeriness of the place, almost allowing herself to enjoy the dream, until she heard the first scream._

_Suddenly, there were wizards and witches, in disarray, panicked, trying to escape. Gleeful laughter turned into horrified screams, and the air bright with fireworks turned even brighter with the multitude of spells flying in every direction. Viola grabbed Esmeralda’s hand in a flash, and apparated them away._

_Breathing heavily, but proud of herself for_ not _getting splinched, she turned towards the other witch, prepared to give her an earful. But then, she felt Esmeralda collapse, and with horror, she turned towards her beau._

_“They got me.” Esmeralda chuckled, showing her a scorch mark right at the top of her left breast._

_“I—I don’t understand.” Viola whispered, anguished. “I got us out in time. It wasn’t even a minute—”_

_“My sunshine.” Esmeralda whispered, teary gray eyes looking up at her with so much love that she felt like she couldn’t breathe. It intensified her pain, her panic, her distraught._

_“This isn’t supposed to happen!” She screamed. “Not again!”_

_“Shhh, sunshine.” The dark-haired girl whispered. “I’m okay, see? I’m with you, and that’s all I want.”_

_“I can’t let you die again! I can’t—"_

She woke up with a start.

The dream bothered her. Something about it was different than all the others. Something was – _I can’t let you die again._

This was it. Another piece of the puzzle.

Malfoy had died in each dream.

Hurriedly, she ran towards her door, hair a mess and eyes probably as crazy as she felt. He would probably laugh at her, tell her that she was being paranoid. But she was right. She _knew_ she was. Frankly, it was downright _stupid_ of her to not notice it until now.

For months now, she had thought that it was a coincidence. _Everyone_ died. It was just their _luck_ that ensured that Malfoy got killed, or maimed, or bloodied in every life that they had.

It wasn’t luck. Nothing about them ever was a coincidence.

She banged on his door, the pattern of three, which usually helped her calm down her nerves, was nowhere near working. She felt alarmed. Thoughts of sentences, words, images of him dying a thousand deaths. Thoughts of the pain and the grief and the desolate _loneliness_ that she felt hundreds of times all coming down on her in one fell swoop.

“Granger, you have to stop making a habit of disturbing me at the wee hours of morning.” He grumbled, crossing his arms across his chest, a frown marring his features.

“Malfoy—” she breathed, almost hyperventilating. The sight of him brought her back to her logical mind. Was this paranoia? Was she just overly _bothered_ by that last dream? Was she –

“Granger, breathe.” Malfoy said, raising his hands as if to put them on her arms. But at the last second, he stopped, hands hovering by her side. “What’s gotten into you?”

“The pattern. I figured it out.”

“What pattern?”

“About the dreams!” she said, willing him to understand without her actually saying it. “You die, Malfoy!”

He stared at her quietly, confused. Then, tentatively, he moved his hands closer towards her arms, gently leading her towards the couches. She was almost hyperventilating now, knowing the implications of the dreams.

“Tell me,” Malfoy said quietly, as if understanding the depth of her _fear_. He conjured two mugs of steaming tea, handing her a cup which she accepted gratefully. “Slowly. Walk me through it.”

“I’ve been having dreams.”

“We’ve established that.”

She nodded, unable to make a comeback, and rolling her eyes instead. Even now, her logical brain was still fighting against her irrational mind. “In each dream, you die, Malfoy.”

He was quiet for a moment, before he gave her a roguish smirk that didn’t reach his eyes. “Of course I would, isn’t that what happens to humans? At least the ones who aren’t mad enough to split their souls?”

“It’s a pattern.” She insisted. “It’s what the dreams are for. They’re warnings.”

“One might think that they are,” he said dryly. But she didn’t think that he was referring to hers at all. His eyes had glazed over for a second, before focusing back on her. “But your dreams aren’t like mine, aren’t they?”

She nodded, not knowing what to say. For months, she had kept that tidbit of information to herself, not really knowing what to do with it. She shouldn’t have kept her mouth shut.

“What happens, exactly, in your dreams?”

“You die.”

“Again, we’ve established that.” He said slowly, almost sarcastically, but the worried look didn’t leave his eyes. “Give me details, Granger. Let me in on that head of yours.”

“I dream about you _hurt_. _Killed_ , mostly.” She admitted, looking down at her hands, tapping by threes. “I just—I just figured it out. They’re not nightmares, or guilt, or just a sick fantasy of getting back at you that my subconscious invented because you annoy me so much. I’ve known this for weeks – I – I can’t believe I didn’t think about it before. They’re memories. And they’re real. I knew that. But I never thought – I never imagined –”

“Breathe, Granger.” He said again, stopping the oncoming onslaught of hysterics that had been building inside her. “Count to three.”

Surprised, she looked up at him, a questioning look on her face. Even Harry and Ron hadn’t noticed the habit, and they had lived together in a tiny tent. Following her instructions, she counted in threes in her head, and he started to tap in a pattern that coincided with the numbers. Slowly, gradually, the irrational wave of emotion receded, and she was able to think clearly again.

“It’s why we have the dreams, Malfoy.” She started. “As I’ve said, they’re warnings. The last one I had, my past self said something strange. We were – erm – lovers, in 1941 America, I think. The newspaper was featuring the end of the Global Wizarding War. Dumbledore –Dumbledore was on the cover. We were celebrating, at a pub. Then there was chaos – a revenge attack… on us, I think. Yes, they were targeting us. We ran away, but one of them caught you and you… they killed you. And then she, or well _I_ said, _‘I can't let you die again.’_ Like it happened before.”

“Maybe it did?” he said, unsure.

“You can’t bring people back from the dead.” She said, shaking her head. “Necromancy was an art that was lost as early as 500 AD. _I’m sure_ that she was referring to previous lives. Nothing about us is a coincidence, _that_ , we’ve established.”

He was quiet still, thoughtful, and she continued on. “We must have figured it out, in the last life – or – or sometime before that. The difference in dreams. That’s the key to all of this. Why is it different for us? Why do _I_ have nightmares? We must have done something, or _I_ must have, to warn me. They’re warnings, Malfoy, I’m sure they are.”

“I believe you.” He stated simply, no trace of fear or panic or anything that she was feeling evident on his face. It was as if he wasn’t talking about his gruesome _death_. “You don’t have to convince me, I believe you.”

She didn’t know that she had needed to hear those words, but the moment she did, she felt half of her worry tamped down. It was irrational, she knew, to be so distraught to the point of being unable to think. And this was _Malfoy_ , the last person she thought she would feel this _protective_ over.

She slumped forward, and Malfoy, who was forever complaining about the _utter repugnance_ of having to touch others, gently patted her head, stroking her hair. It was clumsy, and he looked like he wanted to die, but she appreciated the gesture, nonetheless. It calmed her down somewhat, and her stomach did a little flip from the emotional rollercoaster that she was currently riding on.

Giving in to the weakness, and hopelessness she felt, she leaned towards him, and his hand descended down to her arm, encasing her in an awkward half hug. Some of the weight lifted off her shoulders, and she allowed herself to be comforted. Hugs from _friends_ always made her feel calmer.

He was her friend. Now, she could think about it like it was, as opposed to their rather shaky rapport during the winter holidays. And she was a person who protected her friends.

She would _not_ let him die.

The intensity of her conviction surprised her.

The determination she felt, rushing through her veins, was familiar and unique at the same time. It was the same strength that she had felt, going into the battle, with half the age and experience of the dark wizards that they had fought against, hedging on a prophecy that was _unreliable_ at best. But this was different, _stronger_ , as if the lives and dreams that they had lived before had been stacked on top of each other.

“We have to figure this out, Malfoy.” She said, still not pulling away, still not ready to give up the warmth that he was offering her. “And fast. I’ve never dreamed about a specific timeline before, I don’t know how much time we have.”

“I’ve seen you old, you know.” He said, sighing softly, “Old, and gray, and barely have enough sight to keep reading those books of yours.” She glared at him, but before she could say anything else, he cut her off, “Oh, don’t glare at me like that, I was just describing things as it was. My point is, we might have more time than you think.”

“And what? I’m just supposed to live the rest of my days in fear of you dying?”

“Your fear is unfounded.” He said bluntly, and she froze. “I believe you, Granger. You wouldn’t be having this meltdown if you had any doubt that we could get out of this mess unscathed. But you have a habit of eternally looking at silver-linings, and when you can’t find one, you tend to implode and abandon your logic altogether. Death isn’t something fearful.”

“Who are you and what did you do to Draco Malfoy?” she asked, unbelieving of his extremely accurate assessment of her thought process.

“This version of me comes out when confronted by crying balls of hair.” He said sarcastically, absentmindedly rubbing her arm with his thumb.

Here she was, hysterical, over Malfoy’s safety, being comforted by none other than Malfoy himself. Hell must have frozen over.

She was quiet, then, staring at the fire that she didn’t even notice he had lit. Allowing herself to bask in his presence, willing her logical mind to wrestle back the control.

You survive.” He said, after a few more moments of calm, then, he shrugged, “And if I die, then I die. I would rather _want_ to avoid hell for as long as possible, but it doesn’t matter. You don’t have to kill yourself with worry over it. Wizards and witches don’t die when their soul’s mate passes. It doesn’t work like that.”

She gaped at him, “You think I’m worried because I might die if you do?”

He looked away, not meeting her eyes. “Well, aren’t you? I know you’re a Gryffindor through and through, Granger, but you _must_ have an _ounce_ of self-preservation hidden somewhere under all that hair.”

“I’m worried because you’re my _friend_ , Malfoy.” She stated bluntly.

“Yes, you do have the habit of fearing for the general safety of everyone that’s not _you._ ”

“Only because I tend to care about people whose main personality quirk is imminent gruesome death by dark wizard.”

“Careful, Granger.” He said, finally returning her stare. He smiled roguishly, “It sounds like you’re flirting with me.”

“You can’t handle meaningful conversation, can’t you, Malfoy?” she said, “In case you didn’t know, it’s how _normal_ friendships operate.”

“You and I don’t exactly have what anyone would call a _normal_ friendship.” He drawled.

“Touche.” She conceded, and she continued watching the fire.

He remained quiet, at that, and she decided that so would she.

They stayed like that until the embers of the fire eventually died down.

* * *

She woke up slowly, for the first time in weeks. Warm, and tingling, and just _well-_ rested. Content. At least until she remembered the events of the previous night. It was the first time in a long time that she didn’t have any dreams plaguing her. 3She opened her eyes to see that they were still on the couch, intertwined, with Malfoy’s big head pining down hers. The crick in her neck would probably take ages to get rid of.

Gently, she tried to extricate herself from him, but the arm around her tightened, pulling her closer towards her side.

“Malfoy.” She whispered. “If you don’t stop pulling at me, I’m going to end up on your lap.”

He grunted, but continued to pull her closer.

“Malfoy.” She said, a little louder.

He frowned, and the pressure from his arm lifted. “You have _got_ to stop waking me up, Granger. No one wants to hear you screeching at them first thing in the morning.”

She rolled her eyes and pushed away from the couch. Refusing to think about the sudden cold that replaced Malfoy’s warmth, she decided to focus on the sense of single-minded dedication that she was currently feeling. Rest had fully cleared her head, and finally she could think about the situation without dissolving into a blubbering, irrational mess.

She walked towards the wall that they had pieced together, staring at the massive amount of parchment, willing it to morph into a shape that she could read.

“Now that you’re up, we need to brainstorm.” She declared, and he let out a tired groan.

“My brain is still asleep. There will be _no_ storming taking place.” He groaned, rubbing his eyes.

“Bollocks. You can conjure tea. Now, help me think.”

“As if you ever needed help with _that_.”

She glared at him, and he raised his hands in mock surrender. With a yawn, he conjured two cups of steaming tea, pushing one of them towards her. She gladly accepted, downing it in one go.

“You don’t even have to worry about me dying anymore,” he said dryly, casting her a look full of judgement. “You’ll kill yourself first from choking from tea.”

“Shut up, I need the caffeine boost.”

“You and me both,” he grumbled, before gesturing for her to continue.

“Let’s summarize, everything, shall we?” she said, “The fact that we’re not just soul _mates_ , but that we’re soul _bound_ , the dreams, the probable curse, the knife, and the threats. Somehow, they’re all intertwined.”

“So you say.”

“We’re soulbound. And as if soulmates are not a rare enough thing, we apparently each lived _all_ of our lives meeting – one way or another, unlike Pontham’s Theory that one’s soul mate can exist entirely without meeting the other half.”

“Pontham’s such a pompous name.”

“As if _Draco_ _Malfoy_ , isn’t.” She huffed. “It’s just a theory, and we have no way to prove that it’s right, but it’s safe to assume that we somehow did something to ensure that it happens.”

“Yes, the ritual from the sex manual.”

She rolled her eyes, before responding. “Yes, the one from the Library of Alexandria. I’ll have to revisit that, though, our translation is shoddy at best. Maybe I can ask Bill.”

She waved her wand, and a golden light emitted from the copy of the hieroglyphs on the center of the wall. 

“Say, _that_ one explains why I keep having the general displeasure of meeting you again and again, but it doesn’t explain the dreams.”

“Yes. It’s an anomaly. The fact that we’ve been having dreams, instead of finding out through a glow during the Marriage Rites like _normal_ soul-bound people do, means that somewhere, in our past-lives, we did something to kickstart the dreams. Maybe it was part of the ritual?”

“You’ve made me read it at least three times, there wasn’t any mention of dreams in the description.”

“You’re right.” She admitted, “We must have done something else to do that. Heaven knows we’ve lived enough lives together to make it a possibility.”

“Tristan and Iseult!” he suddenly said, calm, but his eyes were bright. “I’ve dreamed about a potion. _I_ or Tristan made it as a sort of… precautionary measure. I believe his exact words were, _‘It’s designed to bind our magic together, to allow us to find each other even through adversity.’’”_

“And you didn’t share this tidbit of information because?” she sighed, but her excitement didn’t allow her to be too put off with him. This was big – another piece.

He shrugged. “It didn’t come up.”

“Yes, because us going through all that trouble with the Shaman in Brunei wasn’t enough of a reason for you to _think_ that we might be looking for _crumbs_ at this point.”

“Shut up, Granger, we agreed not to talk about that.” He pouted, touching his hair. And the memory of it turning a bright shade of neon green made her release a peal of laughter that made him pout even more.

“Stop it.”

“Fine.” She breathed, but she was still chuckling. Then, remembering her _own_ secrets, she abruptly stopped, giving him a sheepish look which she was sure he’ll interpret as a non-apology. “Alright, I won’t hold it against you. You can stop glaring now, it can give you wrinkles, you know.”

“First you wake me up, _then_ you threaten me with _wrinkles_. Did no one ever teach you proper decorum?”

She ignored him, and she walked up to the wall, “Nothing is a coincidence. Somehow, somewhere along the way, we must have triggered something – a curse, since it keeps on following us, our magic, most likely – it isn’t as if we were ever _shy_ about practicing spells that weren’t properly researched.”

“There are a hundred different practices of magic, Granger,” he said. “We were bound to encounter _snags_ along the way.”

“You dying in every life is a pretty major _snag_.” She pointed out.

“Yes, my life is ever so important, after all.” He deadpanned, sipping his tea.

“Katoptris fits in somewhere in all of this, too.”

“You should ask Kingsley to date the metal.” Malfoy suggested. “If we know roughly when it was made, maybe we’d be able to look into the magical practices that were already available during that period.”

“That’s genius, Malfoy!”

“Why the tone of surprise, Granger?”

She laughed at his expression, shrugging, before turning back to their wall. “This curse,” she said. “There must be some way to beat it. Did you ever have a dream like mine?”

“You mean seeing and feeling myself die?” he asked, “You’d think I’d remember that, don’t you?”

“No, I mean seeing _me_ die. Did you ever live through that?”

He was quiet, and she turned towards him, just in time to catch an apprehensive look on his face before he smoothed out his expression.

“I have. Once.”

“Tell me about it.” She all but demanded, trying to keep the impatience from her voice. Their communication skills leave a lot to be desired.

“Japan, I think.” He started, subtly uncomfortable, but she was familiar enough with his microexpressions to know that he was struggling under his calm demeanor. “You were a nymph. A willow.”

“Is that why the whomping willow doesn’t touch you?”

“Maybe,” he shrugged. “It probably won’t hurt you too.”

“I’d rather not risk it. It’s already thrown me back once. My back might not be able to take it again.”

“Well, I don’t blame it. You _are_ extra annoying most of the time.”

“Whatever, Malfoy.” She retorted with a roll of her eyes. “Now what happened then?”

“People… burned down your tree.” He said, “You died in your sleep.” She could tell that he was lying, but the expression on his face stopped her from pressing.

“Do you remember anything else from that life?”

“No.”

“What was different, then? What changed?” she mused. “At least now we know things _could_ change.”

“One of us _still_ dies.” 

“Could that be it? A life for a life together?” she said, and a figurative lightbulb seemed to go on inside her head. Hurriedly, she dashed towards the stack of paper-thin scrolls, looking for the text that might be the answer.

“What is it, Granger?”

“I think –” she breathed. Finally, her hand closed around the manuscript, nondescript, except for the blood-red ink on its pages. “I think I’ve got it.”

She showed him the text, and his features scrunched up. “Is that fresh blood? I’m _not_ touching that.”

“Oh come off it, blood dries to brown.”

“Ever heard of a stasis charm, Granger?” he huffed, before gingerly leaning closer to examine the writing.

“A soul-binding ritual? We’ve been through dozens. What’s so different about this one?”

“Read it. The chant that binds the potion. Read it out loud.” She exhaled, fearfully shoving the scroll towards the blonde. He looked at her quizzically, before sighing theatrically and taking it from her hands.

“ _Merged hearts, beating apart_

_Future bleak and wan_

_We give our magic, a barter, a trade_

_Freely given, willfully lost_

_Life of both now entwined_

_Two souls now become one_.”

“So, do you see?”

“You have to walk me through this.” He said doubtfully, staring at the ink.

“At first, I didn’t think that it was the ritual that we did. Because I thought that it sacrificed _magic_ to bind the souls. So I discarded it—”

“Two souls become one?”

“Yes.”

“Initially, I thought that it meant a merging of souls, or _binding_ , like in our case.” She whispered. “But what if it’s literal? Two become one, because _one_ dies?”

“The Ancient Egyptians did like to be literal.” He echoed, his eyes now scanning the entirety of the text.

“It _must_ be the ritual, Malfoy.” She said. “I… I can feel it.”

“This involves blood magic.” He stated, “It can’t be reversed.”

“Lobbledook states that –”

“It was a half-arsed theory on blood magic properties, Granger. It’s three hundred years old, and have been _disproven_ quite a lot of times, in fact.”

“Not the clause on blood magic reversibility.” She insisted. “It was backed by Uranus Black –”

“You know _that_ side of the family has always been a little cuckoo in the mental department. Great great grand-uncle Uranus’s most famous work, which was disproved, by the way, was on doxie mating habits. He isn’t one that you should be referencing, you know.”

“Would you stop being so pessimistic!”

“I’m just being realistic.” He said, smirking at her.

“Why can’t you just shut up and _hope!”_ she said, her voice turning shrill, and the panic from the night before returning to her. “You’re most likely going to _die_ , Malfoy, can’t you stop blocking my attempts to actually _save_ you.”

“I told you, Granger. It wouldn’t make a difference.” He said, his face blank.

“It would to me!” she shouted, willing him to understand –what exactly, she didn’t know herself.

“I doubt that. Your guilt will fade.” He stated, expression growing colder by the second. “If I die, I die.”

She was quiet, observing him, willing him to take back his words. Weak sunlight was hitting his profile, and in the shadows of the room, it made his eyes glow silver. Like the moon. _Moonlight_. A thousand different voices, from a thousand different lives, whispered at her, urging her to convince him. To live. For her.

“It’s not guilt.” She whispered, looking away. His audible intake of breath seemingly echoed, and she fought off the blush from her cheeks. “It _would_ make a difference, Malfoy, and not just because I’m guilty.”

She heard him before she saw him. As if in slow motion, she heard his slow footfalls coming across the carpet, going closer and closer. She wanted to run, but she held her ground. A warm hand brushed against her chin, pulling it up, and making her look at him.

“Tell me again.” He rasped, and the intensity of his gaze made her knees week.

“It’s not guilt.” She said, in a non-confession. But it didn’t matter, because she knew that with the blush in her cheeks, and her eyes dilated as much as they would go, that he would know. "It's not because you're my friend, either."

She realized that it was true -- not -- not something that she had said in the heat of the moment, or in desperation. All these weeks of convincing herself that he was just that, a friend, but now she couldn't deny it. Not to herself. Not to him.

He searched her eyes, again and again, as if looking for something to indicate that she was lying. He wouldn’t find anything, she was sure.

“Fuck, Granger, you’re impossible, you know that?” He sighed.

And he leaned down.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for all the new kudos and comments <3 you make my heart feel so full!


	11. Seventeen

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi loves!!! Thank you so much for your positive reviews, and for all the kudos I've received. It warms my heart, it really does. I've been away for too long :( I'm so sorry. I've been dealing with a lot of personal and health-related things, but I'm trying my best right now. How are you? This pandemic still isn't ending, and it's so heavy on our mental health. I hope you're all coping well. If you need someone to talk to, you can message me here, okay? I'm willing to listen.

_Draco_

He was tired.

So bloody tired of playing the saint, and holding himself back. He was a _Malfoy_ \-- he was born unable to deny himself of his whims, for Merlin’s sake! His restraint, which could only be generously described as _miniscule_ in the first place, was at its breaking point.

He had tried. So bloody hard. He had spent weeks trudging through smelly bogs, protecting his hair from fungi, and all around generally putting his neck on the line, _all_ while struggling to control his thoughts. All while wrestling with himself, trying to tamp down his wants.

It had been hell.

Controlling himself during the war had been easier – at least then his restraint was necessitated by a goal that was _logical_. Him playing his part to ensure his mother’s safety had been simple. Straightforward. Even Crabbe would understand how perfectly, logically _sound_ that was – how it had undoubtedly merited his self-imposed self-restraint.

But now. Now he was doing it because he wanted to be _good._ He vaguely recalled something about martyrdom. Lovegood’s bloody wrackspurts must have drilled into his brain, because right now -- looking down at Granger’s open, vulnerable face, feeling the sharp, heady sting of their connection in the air -- he couldn’t remember how he had translated _denying_ himself as _good._

He should’ve known it was impossible – trying to be _good_ for once. His moral compass was practically a joke, at this point. He should have just jumped her, all those months ago, rather than have suffered through all of _that_ denial and pining just to _snap_ at the hint of her _caring_ for him.

He would have died from embarrassment if the majority of his brain power wasn’t currently focused on Hermione Granger’s lips. And no, he wouldn’t blame himself, if he ever looked back at this moment, because they were a pair of kissable, plump, slightly dry, but soft-looking lips. Pale pink, well-bitten from her incredibly distracting habit of lip biting (which should honestly be banned, for his _health_ , of course), and just so enticing in their unremarkable imperfection, that they made him want to blast the word _restraint_ from all the dictionaries in all of the magical realms.

Maybe he could get the Malfoy elves to do that.

Slowly, carefully, he placed his fingers against her cheek, allowing them to drag down, past her delectable lips, resting below her chin. “Tell me again.”

Gently, he tilted her face, asking her without words to look at him. To squash his hopes and help him stop himself from smashing his restraint to dust. She met his stare, and another brick from his already brittle wall of restraint came crashing down.

He had seen that look – the one she only ever gave to her favorite books and pets (because yes, Potter and Weasley were _pets_ )—but he had _never_ seen it directed towards _him._ It opened up a chest, a closet, and entire _world_ of warmth and adoration that hadn’t known he had harbored within himself. All of these feelings, previously felt via his various reincarnations, were _his._ And they were all for _her_.

“It’s not guilt.”

He searched her eyes for lies – any lie. Anything to help him hold on to his honestly idiotic vow of letting her be.

Up until this moment, he had personally thought that _love_ was an emotion that only made you feel good when you were on the receiving end of the said adoration. He had never been led to believe that it was an emotion of merit – he had been taught by his father that it was a distraction, a weakness that was meant to be squashed like a bug. He had never questioned it, seeing as how people tended to do incredibly stupid things under the influence of love.

But it wasn’t weakness that he was feeling. He felt strong, invincible. He felt like he could cheat death and get away with it. It was an entirely new form of addiction.

He himself had never thought that he would be susceptible, as he was raised to fucking _know better_.

Apparently, _knowing_ that he would all-too-willingly destroy himself for just a taste of this wasn’t enough to dissuade him. _Knowing_ wasn’t enough to actually _stop_ himself.

She let out a shaky breath, still staring up at him, frozen, like a pygmypuff caught in a lumos spell. He watched as her pupils dilated, and a soft, rosy blush slowly crept up her cheeks, staining the skin of her neck in a way that was all too tantalizing to ignore.

Fuck being good.

He was done. Done with restraint. Done with trying to let her be. Done trying to resist.

He leaned down, intent to see if his instincts were right – if the overwhelming urge to _take_ her lips, to hold her in his arms would indeed give him more of this incredibly addicting rush of endorphins. Merlin, he was poetic. He wondered if she would like it if he expressed his adoration in words. She probably would, as she was a complete and total swot who adored romantic drivel as much as she enthused about inane magical theory (he _had_ seen her collection of prose that she tried to disguise as dictionaries on her personal shelf).

Slowly, in a final battle to control his crumbling will, his utterly disintegrating sense of self-preservation (as it was all too possible for him to receive another slap, which mind you, _hurt_ ), he continued his descent.

He watched her reaction, noting the way her chest heaved in struggling breaths, the way her eyes ever so slightly darted to _his_ lips, he steeled himself.

He knew, that this was the point of no return. One taste, and he would be done for. He understood himself well enough to know that he was selfish enough to continue chasing this, chasing _her_ , if he let himself have this _one_ moment of weakness.

But right now, he couldn’t be arsed enough to care.

He was so close – close enough to feel her warmth, close enough for that _taste_ that he was all-too-willing to plunge into an inferno for.

And in the last moment, just before their lips met, she looked away.

“Malfoy.” She said shakily, leaning back, her lips almost brushing the lobe of his ear.

He shivered. This was it – the sign of reject that he had been willing her to give, he should remove himself from the situation now. Move back into a safe distance—across the room, far away from her scent, which was driving him crazy in a way that he never once considered he could get. But he was frozen, unable to force himself to let go of the proximity.

“Granger.” He answered, in a whisper. His breath reached _her_ ear, and he watched as she shivered.

“We can’t.” she reasoned, and he pushed himself back to his normal height. The sting of rejection something that should have deterred him, but he found that it had further fueled his desire. “You die, Malfoy. We can’t.”

He laughed in disbelief, and she looked up at him, meeting his eyes again, shock written all over her features. “Glad to know that _your death_ is a funny subject to you.”

“For someone so incredibly brilliant, you sure as dumb as they come, Granger.” He said through chuckles, enjoying the way her brows scrunched up in defense. Before she could give him a verbal lashing, he brought his other hand up to her cheek, cupping her face. “A kiss won’t determine my abysmal fate. That’s utter bollocks.”

“We don’t know that.” She hissed, but he noted that she didn’t move away with self-satisfaction. “This could be a trigger. All of these lives, we were _intimate._ You’ve survived so far, with us practically hating each other’s guts. If we change the circumstance, it might lead to a consequence that I’m not willing to face. You could –”

“As I’ve said,” he sighed. “Bollocks. You’ve been reading too much muggle literature.”

She looked affronted, “Reading _too much?”_

“Yes, you idiot.” He chuckled again, swiping his thumb across her cheek, now aflame with anger. “Magic doesn’t discriminate based on physical acts. A kiss wouldn’t trigger curses, not without intent.”

“Oh. I understand.” Her eyes glazed over, and she roughly pushed back away from him, away from his grasp, but he held on, stepping in sync so that their proximity wasn’t diminished.

“No, you don’t, Granger.” He sighed. “You’re being extra dense today, was it the tea?”

She frowned at him, and he chuckled again. “Well I’m _sorry_ if you’re implied lack of affection for me has turned me off from mashing body parts with you.”

“Crude.” He said, wiggling his eyebrows, and she blushed a deeper shade of red, sputtering. “But I’m not saying that. As I was _saying_ , magic relies on intent, not on action. One wouldn’t be able to cast a _crucio_ if one wasn’t motivated enough to want to _hurt._ It’s the same principle that governs everything else under the sphere of—”

“Merwhen’s Law of Intent.” She stated, and he gave her an exasperated grin.

“Finally. You’ve been talking as if someone hit your head with a bludger.” He teased, and he watched as her cheeks colored further. “As I was saying, intent is what triggers most magical consequences. It’s too late for me.”

“Too late?” she asked, eyes widening, “How can it be too late when—”

“Dense Idiot isn’t a good shade on you, Granger.” He whispered. “It’s too late for me, Granger, because…”

He leaned down, and kissed her.

It was better than he expected. She tasted like apples and tea. She felt soft under his touch, rigid from surprise but slowly softening as he brushed her cheeks with shaking fingers.

So this is what it felt like to be in reverence. It was addicting.

He moved back, just a tiny bit, eyes still closed, savoring the feeling. Resting his forehead on hers, he whispered. “It’s too late for me, Granger.” He gave her another peck, for good measure. Willing her to understand without words.

He looked down on her, waiting for her response, but her shocked expression still didn’t go away. “It’s too late.”

He kissed her again, and again, each time assessing her face, waiting for her to understand. By the third time, he sighed. “Do you still not get it, Granger?” He kissed her. “Is your brain turning to mush from my kisses?” A peck. “Is that it?” Another soft brushing of lips. “Or are you just staying silent so that I could keep kissing you? Is that it? Because I’m all too willing to oblige.”

He leaned down again, but she put her hand on his lips. Opening his eyes, he saw the look of understanding. Finally. He was beginning to think that the shaman from last week had cursed her or something.

He was about to tease her for it, but then she moved her hand, away from his lips, resting on his cheek, much the same as his hands currently were. “What’s wrong with you, Malfoy? Where’s that Slytherin sense of self-preservation that you’re so proud of?”

“Probably being eaten by the bunch of street children you gave away my lunch to in Bulgaria.” He quipped, pouting petulantly at her. He was rewarded by a quiet chuckle.

If that was what it took to have her smile at him like this, he would gladly tell her all of his inane thoughts. “You’re a bastard.” She said, smiling up at him. “They were hungry.”

“ _I_ was, too.” He grumbled, and that earned him another chuckle.

Then her expression changed abruptly, her eyes turning sad. “You’re going to die, Malfoy. We can still stop this if we just –”

“Merlin. Seventeen kisses – not that I was counting, mind you – and you’re still unable to comprehend?”

“I refuse to believe it.”

“Way to go and crush my view on my communication skills, Granger. Do you need more kisses to get what I’m trying to say into that thick skull of yours?”

“It’s _you_ who can’t seem to understand!” She huffed. “You _die_ , Malfoy! You _die_! I—”

“I hate to interrupt you –”

“Really? It seems like it’s a past time of yours –”

“—but I’m already fucked, Granger.” He continued. “There is already _intent_ here. I _know_ , all right? And I don’t care.”

“How can you _not_ care?”

“It’s just me, yeah?” he said, “If it’s just me then it’s okay. It would be my retribution for all of the things I’ve done to you and for all the things that I’ve failed to do.”

“And where would that leave me?”

“Alive. With a devilishly charming bloke trying to get into your knickers until this blasted curse offs me.” He answered. “My sense of self-preservation, as you have seen, when it comes to you, is practically _nil._ My ambition, which people might say is to become old and gray surrounded by a treasury of gold – like my namesake – has _changed_. It’s _you_ , now. So shut up, and let me kiss you again. I find that I haven’t quite had enough of those lips.”

He tried to lean down again, but her hand on his face stopped him from coming closer. He practically swore his life away for hers and she was being _guilty_ about it. Sodding goody-two-shoe.

“I can’t accept this, Malfoy. You want me to just sit here and _frolic_ with you while we wait for your untimely demise?”

“My _demise_ , is something that I’ve been expecting, something that I’ve accepted since that madman made my house his lair. It’s not new. I, frankly, am surprised that I’m still standing. Aren’t you? So yes, I’d rather _frolic_ , as you say, and not think about it.”

“But yet you complain every time we go on missions.”

“Because I might be accepting of my death, doesn’t mean I want to jump headfirst into it.” He said, rolling his eyes.

“But you are, right now! You—”

He was about to rebut when the fireplace suddenly burst into green flames. In a panic, he pushed her back, putting her behind him, wand at the ready.

“Didn’t I tell you not to protect me like this?” she said exasperatedly, wrenching free from his grasp and taking her place beside him, wand also already drawn.

He glared at her before turning his attention back to Shacklebolt’s floating head.

“Mr. Malfoy, Ms. Granger.” The man said, “I’m sorry to disturb you.”

“You should be.” He grumbled, just as Granger squeaked, “Not at all!”

“There is a situation at your safehouse, Mr. Malfoy –” Shacklebolt started, and Draco paled. His mother.

“Where is she?” He demanded. “My mother, where –”

“She’s safe.” Shacklebolt cut him off. “We relocated her to one of the Order’s safe houses for the meantime. I was just calling to inform you of the matter.”

“I want to see her!” he demanded again, striding towards the fireplace.

“Yes, yes, we’ll arrange for it, Mr. Malfoy.” Shacklebolt said reassuringly. “Ms. Granger, we also need you to be present at the scene. We believe that this situation is connected to you.”

“I’m not letting Granger go there alone.” He insisted, glaring at the old man, who had raised his eyebrows in apparent surprise.

“Malfoy.” She said, placing a hand on his arm. “Calm down. Your mother is safe.”

“And you?”

“I’m here, aren’t I? Maybe a little shocked, as you are, but I’m fine.”

“A _little_ shocked?” he quipped, before turning back to the man at the fireplace. He raised an accusing brow at Shacklebolt. “You told me you’d keep my mother out of this.”

“We’ve taken the necessary precautions, Mr. Malfoy. I would want to reassure you further, but it’s best if talk about this in person. Minerva is on her way with the portkeys as we speak.”

“Kingsley, can we go to Mrs. Malfoy first?” Hermione requested, surprising him. Knowing her, she would be dying of curiosity right now. “Don’t look so surprised, Malfoy. You would pout about me going without you, and you obviously need to see your mum right now.”

He couldn’t find the right words, but he nodded, relieved that she was being considerate. He shouldn’t be surprised, seeing as she was a proverbial saint, but it was startling to be thought of, nonetheless.

The portrait hole opened, and Mcgonagall strode in, looking stoic, but Draco could see that something bothered the old witch, with didn’t at all help with the sense of dread that he was currently feeling.

“Mr. Malfoy, Ms. Granger. Your portkeys are ready. Read the slips of paper for the fidelius charm. I’ve lowered the wards to let you pass.”

“Thank you, professor.” Granger said, pushing past him to take the objects from the Mcgonagall’s outstretched hands. “Let’s go, Malfoy.”

Wordlessly, he strode towards her, nodding his thanks.

He watched Mcgonagall and Kingsley exchange weary glances as they spun away.

* * *

_Hermione_

“Mother, are you alright?” Draco said calmly, as they walked past the threshold of a shabby, old-fashioned parlor. Hermione continued forward, and she was five steps in before she noticed that Malfoy hadn’t moved any further.

She turned to look at him, raising her brow in confusion, but he wasn’t looking at her, instead, his gaze was centered on the woman seated near the bay windows.

The last time Hermione had seen Narcissa Malfoy, the older woman had been haggard, not a speck of dirt and soot marring her perfectly coifed appearance, despite the recent battle, but her expression showed the toll of the war. She hadn’t been photographed since, even through the grueling months of trial that the Malfoy family had went through. But the woman seated before them was almost unrecognizable.

Her clothes, which looked undoubtedly expensive, were mismatched, as if she had let Luna play dress-up with her. Her make up was smudged, and her hair looked like a hurricane had gone through it.

Before Hermione could say anything, Narcissa Malfoy took a sharp breath, staring at Draco with horror.

“Get out!” the older woman screamed, and Hermione automatically assumed a defensive stance, maneuvering herself to stand between Narcissa and her son. “Get out! I don’t want you here!”

“Mother, please.” Draco pleaded, in a voice that Hermione had never heard him use before.

“Get out, Lucius, I don’t want you here!”

“Mrs. Malfoy, we urge you to calm down, please.” A voice said behind her, and Hermione turned to see Kingsley, hands raised.

“Narcissa.” Draco said in a defeated voice. “I’ll go. But please, before I do, tell me that you’re not hurt.”

“How can I be not hurt, not after you’ve let that monster into our house!” Narcissa screamed, and her magic caused the sconces to explode.

“Mrs. Malfoy, please.” She said, trying to deescalate the situation. “We’re here to ask if you’re alright.”

“Granger, is it not?” the older witch said, her demeanor completely changing once her focus was off of Draco. “What brings you here? You can’t be here. You’ll die, and Potter will never be able to defeat the Dark Lord. Merlin knows boys are often dumb.”

Narcissa theatrically raised her hands to her mouth, eyebrows raising up in surprise, as if she had just told a secret. In her mind, she probably did, if she was hallucinating that Draco was Lucius and she was stuck in the manor sometime pre-Battle of Hogwarts.

Hermione stepped forward tentatively, trying not to spook the witch “Yes, Mrs. Malfoy, but I’m here on a mission. I’m actually going on my way, but might I know if you’re alright? I can’t leave before I’m sure. May I perform diagnostic spells on you? I promise it will be quick.”

“Draco used to do those for me,” Narcissa said, staring at her melancholically. “Fine. I’ve been waiting for my boy, but you may. I am trusting you here, Miss Granger, but you must know that the Malfoy and Black family rings I wear protect me from any jinxes and hexes.”

Hermione nodded, noting that the older witch wasn’t actually wearing any rings. She was surprised that Narcissa was so trusting, but she didn’t question it. “I’ll be careful, Mrs. Malfoy.”

The older witch nodded, and relaxed. Hermione cast a diagnostic spell, and she chattered gently, trying to keep Narcissa’s attention on her so she wouldn’t focus on Draco again. The other blonde was still at the doorway, seemingly frozen. She stepped closer, in order to read the runes now glowing around the older witch’s person.

“You seem quite alright Mrs. Malfoy,” she said after a few minutes of additional tests, “Although you’re slightly dehydrated. When was the last time you’ve drunk and eaten something?”

“Oh, I can’t remember, dear.” Narcissa said with a wave of her hand. “Who are you, again? Did my Draco send you?”

Hermione tried to keep her surprise away from her face, before she gave Narcissa a reassuring smile and said, “Yes, Mrs. Malfoy. Your son has contacted St. Mungos, and they sent me. I’m currently an intern, you see.”

“An intern?” Narcissa sniffed haughtily. “They send a _baby_ to me? Where is Dr. Gwindlehook?”

 _At the bottom of the Thames, killed during the first attack._ Hermione thought, thinking about the famous Family Physician that had been one of the early victims of the war, but she stopped herself from saying it, instead, she nodded gravely and said, “Dr. Gwindlehook’s busy with a pox outbreak at St. Mungo’s. All of the Attendings and Residents are quarantined right now, since one patient didn’t inform them that she had symptoms, and they were all exposed.”

“Ah. It can’t be helped, it seems. I don’t particularly trust non-British Healers. Our constitution is unique, don’t you think?”

Hermione smiled, “You don’t have to worry, Mrs. Malfoy, I’m just about to finish my internship year. I was planning to take a residency in Family Medicine, and I’m the best. That’s why they sent me. Only the best should be treating you, they said.”

“As it should.” The older witch said, almost preening. “Have you seen my son? He’s also an intern there, you know. He’s training to be a medic. Lucius was mad, about the whole premise of the Malfoy Heir not going into the family business, but I’m proud that Draco has found his own way.”

“Yes, he’s my friend.” Hermione said, casting another diagnostic spell, this time specifically aimed to assess Narcissa’s current nutrition levels.

“I’m glad.” Narcissa smiled beatifically, “That boy has been trying to impress his father so much, that he forgets to live for himself.”

“That, he did.” Hermione agreed, now trying to cast a charm that showed her Narcissa’s cardiorespiratory state. Her blood pressure, though a bit low, was fine. As was her breathing. “Your son is a good person, Mrs. Malfoy. He’s kind, even though he doesn’t want people to know it. He protects his patients thoroughly, and advocates for them passionately. He’s one of my best colleagues.”

Narcissa glowed with pride, turning away from Hermione to look out of the window, she said, “Tell him to take care of himself, alright?”

“I will Mrs. Granger.” Hermione said, and after a few more charms, she backed away, before saying. “All done, Mrs. Malfoy. I’m going to leave your elves with instructions on how to adjust your current nutritional status, but you’re in tip-top shape.”

Narcissa hummed in response, but her attention was already elsewhere.

Slowly, Hermione turned around to see Kingsley and Draco watching her. She stared at the blonde, who nodded at her gratefully. Once they were outside the room, with the door properly warded back again, Hermione turned towards Kingsley angrily.

“The Ministry _still_ made Malfoy go to Hogwarts even though he has a family member who so obviously needs care?”

Kingsley rose to his defense, but before he could say anything, Draco cut him off. “I requested it instead of House Arrest, Granger. You saw how she reacted to me. It was becoming unbearable for her, living in the Manor alone with me.”

“Draco--” she started, but the blonde raised his hand.

“It’s fine. All I wanted to know was that she’s safe. And she is. We have to go to the other safehouse now.”

“But—”

“Later. I’ll tell you about it later.” The blonde conceded, and Hermione nodded. This really was hardly the time and place for him to talk about Narcissa Malfoy’s state of mind.

“Kingsley, I’m still mad at you.” She said icily, turning towards the older wizard, who nodded.

“It was the best arrangement we could do, Hermione. Mrs. Malfoy wouldn’t have been safe in St. Mungos, and she mistrusts non-English healers, as you’ve seen. There isn’t exactly a line-up of healers who are comfortable enough to treat her. They’ve all treated the injured, during the war.”

“That isn’t enough of a reason!” Hermione huffed. “She’s as much of a war hero as any of us are. We _owe_ her for the Final Battle. Without her lie, Voldemort would have killed Harry again, and he would have _stayed_ dead!”

“Yes, but personal trauma, unfortunately, trumps that fact.” Kingsley replied.

“I told you, Granger, it’s fine.” Draco said, holding out his hand. “The portkey, Kingsley?”

And they were off.

* * *

Draco

Seeing his mother in such a state again, after months of being away had been disconcerting. He had almost forgotten how it felt like to have his mother look at him with pure and utter disgust.

Draco shivered, trying to keep his focus away from the events of the past hour. Now, they were trekking up the winding cliffs towards the Newquay Villa, one of their less ostentatious properties located. Granger was walking ahead of him, and he decided to revert all of his energy on noticing the way her muggle jeans hugged her lower half, like the warm-blooded wizard that he should be.

“Stop staring at my arse, Malfoy.” Granger whispered, glaring at him. Ahead of them, Shacklebolt was actively taking down the wards.

“I’ve got nothing else to look at. Might stumble, if I don’t, you know.”

“I didn’t know that my anatomy helped with your balance.”

“The more you know, Granger.” He smirked, and she shot him an exasperated look, before her face morphed back to one of concern again.

“Are you sure you’re alright?”

He rolled his eyes at her. “Let a bloke compartmentalize.” He said. “It wasn’t exactly a surprise, I was just taken aback, for a bit.”

“Those two are synonyms, you know.”

He shrugged, “I told you, it’s fine. And it will be the same answer you get the next three hundred times you ask, so stop asking now, because looking back at me would make _you_ trip, and I’d rather not see you with sun and sand on your hair and broken neck. Sun and sand, and nothing else on you, I’d give half my fortune to see, but broken neck is something that won’t suit you entirely, not with that hair.”

“Shut up.”

“You’re the one who keeps trying to converse with me.”

“Because you’ve been brooding.”

“And when have I ever _not_ been a broody bastard?” He quipped. “It’s part of the Slytherin package, you know? Talk, dark, and handsome and all of that bullshit.”

“You’re impossible.”

“You’re adorable when you’re being incredibly annoying.”

She raised her brows in surprise at his blatant come on. “Has the wind addled your brain, oh high prince of Slytherin? Flirting with me, now?”

Draco was instantly reminded of Euphrosyne and Agatha, girls that they had been in their past lives. He wondered what had happened to them, in their decision to flee. He pushed the thought away, now was _not_ the time. “I’ve flirted with you since we were children, Granger. You just didn’t know it.”

“Yes, following me around with the intent to report me to Umbridge was the height of flirtation.”

“I’d have called it misplaced sexual tension.”

“And you’d admit it?”

“Now, willingly yes, but back then? I’d have fed Goyle to the Giant Squid first before admitting that I was fixated on you.”

“We all thought it was _Harry_ that you were obsessed over.”

“Potter, as much as it pains me to say, is attractive in his own way, if you like bumbling idiot who can’t be killed. As I’m sure Weasley does. Brother and sister both, in my honest opinion. But in this life, I’ve never been interested in anything that could grow a beard, you know.”

“You were fifteen, Malfoy. You may have been just coming to terms with your sexuality.”

“Ah, the age of unrestricted hormones. But it wasn’t him that I dreamt about.” He winked, grinning seductively at her. She blushed and he felt triumphant. Her blushes were like a reward. He would live a happy, if not short, life indeed with a career in making Hermione Granger blush as much as humanely possible.

It was a nice thought.

He was not used to having nice thoughts.

They were nearing the villa now, and Draco could see that a few people were milling about, casting charms around the house. Before they went here, they had each taken Polyjuice, posing as consultants from the MACUSA. Their accents were a dead give-away, but he wasn’t worried. The States were a melting pot of cultures, anyway.

“Mr. Smith, Ms. Langford,” Shacklebolt said. “This is where the package was left.”

“I see,” he said, trying his best to keep his native British accent in check. “What exactly, was inside the package?”

“A severed head.” Kingsley replied, looking gravely at the two of them, as Aurors rushed towards them, listening attentively. “It was charmed to the likeness of Draco Malfoy.”

Granger gasped, and he turned to glare at her, wanting to tell her off. They had been told about the head before going up the cliffs, but he could see that her surprise wasn’t directed at Shacklebolt, but to two men who were walking towards them now.

The Minister noticed, and raised his brows in surprise, too. “Mr. Potter, Mr. Weasley, I wasn’t aware that your training was finished.”

“Nice to see you too, Kings,” Weasley grumbled. Already, the sun wasn’t agreeing on him. He looked cherry red, and it looked painful. Draco grimaced, in surprising sympathy. Pale bastards like them did _not_ do well in sunlight. “Didn’t know that they let you out from under all that paperwork.”

Potter elbowed Weasley, before grinning sheepishly, “The aurors we were assigned to tail were called for this case, that’s why we were allowed to tag along.” He turned towards Draco and Hermione, “Nice to meet you.”

“Harry.” Hermione said, in a squeak, before regaining her composure. “Harry Potter. It’s a pleasure to meet you. I’m Cecilia Langford, from the MACUSA.”

“I didn’t know you Americans were keen on helping us Brits,” Weasley grumbled crankily. “Didn’t see you lot helping out when Voldemort was killing us off.”

“We were preoccupied with problems of our own, Mr. Weasley,” he said coldly, although he agreed with the sentiment. Sympathizing with Weasley and agreeing with him? Maybe the wind _had_ addled his brain.

“Play nice.” Hermione whispered, glaring at him.

“Mr. Smith and Ms. Langford here are consulting in on the case, Mr. Weasley.” Kingsley said, trying to dispel the tension. Potter meanwhile, was staring questioningly at Granger. Fuck, she forgot to do her accent.

“We’re from here, originally.” Draco said, “Or at least my fiancé is. We plan to move here and join the Ministry, actually.” He glared at Hermione, willing her to go along with it.

“Ahh, yes.” She said unconvincingly. The woman had successfully trumped Goblins, masquerading as Bellatrix Lestrange, and she couldn’t pull off acting like a bloody nobody?

“As I was saying,” Kingsley said, clearing his throat. “The severed head was left here, for the occupant to see. It was only by pure luck that the assigned Auror was able to stumble upon it first.”

“This is meters into the wards, Kingsley, how were they able to do it?”

“Couldn’t they just have thrown it in?” Weasley asked.

Draco glared at him like the idiot that he was. “The wards that are placed on this property does not allow for that, Weasley.”

“Mr. Smith is an expert on wards,” Granger piped up. “We studied them as we climbed up.”

“Yes, that’s why we moved the protectee to another location. The box appearing here signifies that the place has been breached.”

“Blood magic or family magic may have been able to do it.” Draco mused. “Have you checked for any magical traces in the area?”

The killer was getting sloppy, probably desperate, as he hadn’t been able to send anything to Draco or Hermione since the picture of the mottled hand. Targeting his mother, in a place that was as risky for him as this was, could only have been fueled by frustration. Draco smiled like a predator, the killer was making mistakes. It would only be a matter of time before they caught him.

“Boys, go check with Robards if the forensic team recovered anything. I have to speak with Mr. Smith and Ms. Langford in private.” Kingsley said.

Weasley shrugged, turning away, but Potter stayed, still staring at Hermione. “Have I met you, before? You sound familiar.”

“Mr. Potter,” he said coldly, trying in vain to telepathically tell Granger to shut her trap and not make this situation any worse than it already is. “I don’t appreciate you flirting with my fiancé.”

“I wasn’t flirting!” Potter huffed, before glaring at him and stalking away.

Once the boys were out of earshot, Granger turned towards Shacklebolt, “You said they were safe! In a bloody uninhabited island!”

“They’re in a phase of their training where they go onto the mainland for exercises like this, Miss Granger. They are safe. They’re only allowed on day trips, and always with senior Aurors that they’re assigned to.”

“Kingsley. I only agreed with silence because I was reassured that they would be out of harm’s way.” Hermione said, “All forms of trouble practically gravitate towards Harry. This is –”

“I’ll make arrangements.” The Minister acquiesced. “I’ll talk to Robards about it. Back to the topic, it wasn’t just the head that I wanted you to know about. The Department of Mysteries has given back the knife, and with it was quite a lengthy report.”

“What are the results of the dating?”

“It’s estimated that the metal was older than civilization itself, but the wood handhold was made around the time of the Trojan war.”

Draco and Hermione exchanged not too surprised looks. Helen was the first owner of the knife, at least they had confirmed that.

“What’s curious is, the amount of magical trace that it had left all over the world. One particular hotspot, it seemed, was an Egyptian temple just south of Cairo. I’m sure your little international trips haven’t taken you there yet.”

Hermione smiled sheepishly at having been caught. Their little educational fieldtrips, which she had told him were made with the blessing from the minister, apparently, were more covert than he had thought. How very Slytherin of her. It almost made him bristle with pride.

“Where else?” he asked, trying to save her head from hot water, “Where there any records of other people owning the knife?”

“Two, as far as the people in Archives can tell.” Shacklebolt answered. “One was a Briton Princess named Iseult, and another was Viola Dubois, an American that lived during the 40s. A painting of Iseult was recovered, there, a likeness of the knife was on her person. The other witch was photographed with the knife.”

“Have you found any connection between the two?” Hermione asked, but Draco could feel the gears in her brain positively whizzing. She would probably overheat in a minute.

“Aside from the fact that they were both known witches, we aren’t sure.” Shacklebolt replied. “It might have been a coincidence, as there were thousands of other locations which held the magical trace.”

 _Coincidence._ There was that word again. He exchanged another look with Granger. Nothing about them ever was a coincidence.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Did you like it? I tried to make the 'first kiss' as in line with their characters as possible. Let me know your thoughts! I'd love to hear them! Stay safe, loves! See you next time <3

**Author's Note:**

> Loved it? Hated it? Let me know!!!


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